Novus Inceptum
by Nanaki Lioness
Summary: [Repost. KisaIta, AU, Character death] "People light candles for the dead. I light them for the living."
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The characters, items and places of Naruto are property of Masashi Kishimoto. No infringement is intended.

_**This is a repost.**_

_I've had a lot of questions about removing this fic, and I wanted to explain why I did it. I wrote it when I was grieving for the loss of someone close, and when I was in a very dark place of my own. It made me uncomfortable how closely Itachi mirrors myself in this fic, so I removed it. When I became more comfortable with it, I kept it down with the intention of perhaps making something original from it. Eventually I decided I didn't want to change it at all, since it also helped heal me. Now is the time I feel happy with it, and with myself, and it doesn't hurt as much anymore._

_If you're a new reader, welcome and thank you. If you're an old reader, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy it just as much the second time around._

**Novus Inceptum**

By Nanaki Lioness

**Prologue.**

Tendrils of smoke curl up from the flames of the sea of flickering tea lights, each one lit with a wish and a prayer in mind. I'm just another person to pass through the cathedral this afternoon- Uchiha Itachi, the one who lit candle number one hundred and thirty seven, adding another unheard plea to the midst. I stand and stare for a moment before falling to my knees, ignoring the sting as I do so. It's like being here before the stained glass windows and the sorrowful candles crumbles my resolve into nothing, and I can't help but collapse under the weight of it all.

There's a stack of unlit tea lights on the table before me and I reach for one, closing my eyes and moving my lips soundlessly with it poised in my hand. I imagine, when I open them, that the flames will reflect back in them thanks to the tears I can't suppress. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now, only the candle in my hand and the strangely comforting atmosphere around me. People walk through the chamber, footfalls light yet crashing around me like thunder, but I pay them no heed and they pay none to me in return.

I reach towards one of the other lit candles with mine, setting the wick ablaze and lightly placing it on the rack with the others. Some of these candles have been burning for a while- the wax has turned completely clear, and others have burnt out completely. The scent of candle wax is almost overpowering, mingled with incense and musk from the old building.

I have my head bowed but I can hear someone settle down next to me on the cold stone. It isn't unusual to have other people kneel here and light candles, but I pull my head up and focus blurrily on my candle flame in an attempt to appear stronger than I am. The person's tan hand stretches before me, blocking my view as he picks one up as well. He straightens the wick and lights it off of my candle, putting it down next to it and speaking in low tones.

"People light candles for the dead. I light them for the living."

Despite wanting to ignore him it's clear the stranger is addressing me, so I turn to him and give him a mildly curious glance. Bright eyes meet my gaze, and I narrow my own in annoyance when I realise he actually wishes to make conversation.

"There is an unwritten rule," I remark sharply. "It involves people minding their own business and staying silent whilst here."

"I've never heard that," the man shrugs, unperturbed by my tone. "So who are you lighting the candle for, huh?"

"Forgive my impoliteness, but I don't think that's any of your business," I tell him before pulling myself to a stand, turning my back on the candles and the mysterious man in favour of heading straight for the exit of the chamber.

"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders," he shouts after me, and I hear his fast footsteps behind me. I resist the urge to laugh sharply at the observation. "I said I light candles for the living- let's pretend I lit that one in there for you, shall we?"

"If you so wish," I tell him plainly, pausing in the doorway to glance over my shoulder and choosing not to remark out loud how cliché his words are. "I have no idea what you want from me, but I'm afraid I can't give it."

"If you don't know what it is, how do you know that?" The man smirks, holding one hand out by means of introduction. "The name's Kisame."

I stare at the proffered hand, gaily ignoring it before fixing Kisame with a sharp look. "Thank you for the candle, Kisame. However, I feel it's wasted on someone such as myself. You light candles for the living, not for the existing."

With those words I feel I've made my slightly melodramatic point so I turn and exit the chamber, not sparing a glance behind me.


	2. Chapter 1

**1.**

I can think of no virtuous reasons why a cathedral should have a gift shop. It is a holy place of worship yet it is also the town's biggest tourist attraction- it seems even the religious are just as swayed by money, not unlike other more corrupted men. In order to exit the cathedral you have to walk through it in a display of true entrapment, leaving me heading swiftly through an aisle of colourful mugs with stained glass windows on them and tacky crucifix mouse mats.

As I turn the corner I lock eyes with Kisame once more. I mentally chide myself for not leaving straight away, choosing to take a walk through the peaceful cathedral gardens first. He holds out a small white packaged bar to me, shaking it to place emphasis upon it.

"Holy chocolate?" He offers. "Only five times the price of normal chocolate!"

He doesn't seem to have the message yet. I sigh, exasperated, and push his hand away. "What do you want with me? You don't know me- why are you stalking me?"

"Do I have to know you to want to help you?" Kisame counters. "You were clearly mourning in there. Is it so wrong to want to try and make you feel better?"

The idea is absurd. I can't help but give him an amused smile, raising an eyebrow in question. "What makes you think you can?"

"Blind optimism," Kisame replies with another of his brilliant grins, holding out the chocolate bar once more. "At least let me buy you this. Chocolate is a temporary cure for everything."

He doesn't wait for me to reply, turning and heading for the till to pay its no doubt exorbitant price. I take the opening and head straight for the exit- I have no intentions of taking pity gifts, especially not from strangers.

I'm barely a stone's throw from the door when a hand grabs my arm. I whirl around, the touch putting me on edge, but it's gone as quickly as it was given. Kisame holds out the bar once more, giving me an encouraging look.

"Take it," he urges softly. "Go on. You can do that much at least, right?"

The act is kind and Kisame's intentions are good ones- for those reasons alone I take the bar, putting it in my pocket. I am not usually so unkind and he's beginning to make me feel marginally guilty.

He seems satisfied finally, giving me a wave and turning on his heel, heading merrily in the other direction. I watch his retreating form for a moment before heading for my car, parked on the outskirts of the town a ten minute walk away.

The chocolate is alluring. I have a sweet tooth and it's been a while since I've had anything treat-like in my vicinity. By the time I've reached my car it has succeeded in tempting me, so I lean against the door and pull it out. There's a photo of the cathedral on it, somehow managing to look gaudy despite its beautiful architecture. Ignoring it I tug on the wrapper, realising half of it has been pulled free already.

Kisame's name greets me with a phone number next to it- with it, the reason for the vandalism becomes clear. His handwriting is messy yet still legible, the black ink feeling intrusive. I disregard it and break a square of chocolate off, wrapping the rest of it back up and slipping it into my pocket. It tastes bitter. I'm not surprised.

I resolve to do Kisame a favour when I'm done with the gift. I intend to throw the wrapper away- an act of charity, I tell myself. He extended kindness to me and the kindest thing I can do in return is ignore that he tried.

-.-.-

The morning commute is something I never look forward to. I refuse to take my car despite this fact- not only is it uneconomical, the roads are hellish and my journey would probably take longer. Instead I take the train, just like many other people on their way to work, school or social commitments. It takes one hour and ten minutes and I have the luxury of getting on at the top of the line, meaning I can head for the same seat each morning.

I like this seat. It's next to the window and near the back of the carriage- a two-seater that people rarely join on me. I like to imagine it's because I am an Uchiha. The Uchiha name is well known and powerful where I'm headed, and I'd be a fool to think that I am unrecognised by some of these passengers.

In truth, I know it's because three stops up the line I shall be joined by my Uncle Madara, who manages to radiate intimidation to such an extent I'm surprised people don't vacate the carriage altogether. Many of the same people get this train in the morning and in some strange way, it creates camaraderie between us that results in my presence being largely ignored despite the inquisitive glances.

Five years ago, had someone said to me I would be working for my uncle's company instead of studying at a top name university I might have laughed at them. I was on track to do just that.

I derail my train of thought, not willing to think about the unthinkable whilst in such a public setting. The reasons why I'm in the position that I currently am are not ones I chose.

Madara is the epitome of confidence when he approaches me the designated three stops later. We're both dressed in smart suits but somehow he manages to dwarf me in style, sitting down next to me with a daily newspaper in his hand.

"Itachi," he greets with a sharp nod.

"Good morning," I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, which isn't very much at seven thirty am on a Monday morning.

Madara flicks straight to the finance section of his newspaper as the train begins to move again. It's a morning ritual I've come to get used to, and I peek over his shoulder to peruse the figures with him- something else I've come to do over time. He senses me and snaps it closed with a sharp rustle of paper, locking his dark eyes onto my own.

"How have you been, Itachi?" He asks, and I suddenly have the pressing desire to attempt to jump out of the tiny window above me.

"Fine," I reply breezily. "Yourself?"

"I'm just perfect," Madara responds in a tone I know I should be wary of. "I have to wonder about you, you know. No other person I know could attend work the day after the death of their sibling and still perform to the best of their ability."

I stare at him for a moment, not quite able to believe he's brought up the subject he _knows_ is taboo with me, _and_ in public. He turns his attention back to the newspaper, opening it again like he's made some kind of grand point, when all he's done is highlighted something I don't want to think about during the working day.

It's been two months, one week and three days since Uchiha Sasuke died.

I count the days every morning when I flip my day to day calendar over on my desk at work, and I count it again when I take the daily pill prescribed by my doctor during my lunch break. He's the only one who knows of my struggle- him, and the candles of the cathedral. If I let it, Sasuke's death would crush me until I have no will left of my own to live- pre-empting this, I put a stop to it before it begun.

The doctor was more than happy to prescribe anti depressants. I barely had to say a word to him- he knew what happened, he was expecting it. I declined his offer for counselling, took the prescription and kept myself stable _before_ I hit rock bottom rather than attempting to climb back up from it in a few months time.

However, all of these carefully constructed walls I've built up around the pain of losing the single most important person in my life come crashing down if anyone brings the topic up with me. I guess I'm not that stable after all. However, it's not generally conversation material for most, but Madara plays by different rules to most. This isn't the first time he's brought up Sasuke- not even a week after his passing, he walked up to my desk and perched himself on the edge of it.

"So," he had declared in his sickeningly chary tone that sounds almost like _caring_. "How are you holding up? I know you declined the time off-"

I have no idea what else he was planning on saying. I was already making my excuses, walking away through the hall with as much poise as I could manage. The urge to curl up and cry until my eyes were dry was sudden and overwhelming with his words- suppressing it stung my throat and pained my lungs to such an extent I worried they would collapse. Madara found me twenty minutes later, vomiting in the bathroom from stress and feigning that I was unwell. Technically I was, after all, if stress counts.

He sent me home- I went to the cathedral. The cathedral is my place of mourning. It's the only place I allow myself to grieve for Sasuke. However right now I'm trapped, stuck on a train with only Madara and the soft chatter of other commuters. I'm no-where near my sanctuary, and it frightens me. Somewhere in the back of my mind my inner self tells me that isn't healthy, but I ignore it in favour of practically climbing over Madara and skirting through people standing in the busy carriage.

I can feel his eyes on my back. I have no idea what he's attempting to do, but I can almost feel the accompanying smirk too. Madara does care for me, but as with all things he does it in a twisted fashion. I'm still uncertain how this particular line of conversation could be construed as caring, however.

My hands are shaking as I close the bathroom door behind me, but I don't care. I simply lean against it, gasping for breath and attempting to ignore the sting in my eyes. This is not my cathedral. It becomes a mantra in my mind, and it's successful. The pain recedes and I am free to return to Madara, once again the personification of someone coping well with life's struggles.

Madara is not stupid enough to believe this.

"Itachi," he sighs as I once again have to clamber over him to return to my seat. "You can't run away every time I mention-"

"Madara," I interrupt before he can say my brother's name, reaching over and snatching the newspaper from his lap. "Shall we get a coffee before heading to the office?"

I chastise myself for my words, given that coffee with Madara is possibly one of the last things I want to do with my time. However the fear of hearing my brother's name hurries my lips, making them say things I rather they didn't. Madara is aware it's an unusual request but he shrugs, folding his arms in his lap.

"If you wish," he agrees, and finally he is silent. I open the newspaper and glance through it, not really reading it, hoping I appear distracted enough to keep him that way.

-.-.-

It is perhaps a small miracle that I am spared the excruciating social moment alone with Madara, since Deidara is present in the coffee shop when we enter. He's in the corner with his sketchbook, glancing up at the chime of the bell and waving frantically at us with a grin.

"Itachi! Sir! Over here!"

I am the only one allowed to call Madara by his name. This is mostly because old habits are hard to break, since I've known my uncle all my life and have always referred to him as such. As I couldn't bring myself to call him 'Uncle Madara' in a working environment, I removed the prefix. He had no complaints.

Deidara's still beckoning to us and I am thankful he's here, heading to his table and seating myself opposite him with a tiny smile. Deidara returns it, snapping his sketchbook closed and gesturing to the counter behind us.

"What do you want? I'll buy."

Madara's already at the counter, so I decline Deidara's kind offer. He doesn't bother to ask what we want but manages to hit the mark perfectly when he arrives at the table, putting down a calorie laden coffee with syrup and cream for Deidara. The man's sweet tooth rivals my own- even I wouldn't drink that this early in the day. Madara knows this and presents me with mocha instead, spared of the extra frivolities.

My mind is thrown back to the chocolate bar, still resting in my pocket, when I taste my beverage. Slightly bitter- just like the so-called holy chocolate.

"I bought you breakfast," Madara tells me. Somehow I don't have to ask how he knows I skipped it before leaving. I thank him for the cinnamon bagel, grateful that I have people looking out for me, even if it's in the strangest of ways.

Deidara is one of the cubicle staff. Madara recycles his kind frequently but Deidara somehow manages to stick around. He's the first person I was introduced to when I joined the company over a year ago, and immediately I was put off of him. His bright, sunny disposition set me off kilter and he followed me like a kitten trails a ball of yarn, making me uneasy. I soon learned Madara had told him to do so, to ensure I fitted in and didn't get lost in the huge corporate building.

There are tiers of staff at the Uchiha Corporation, even if some people hold the same job as others. It falls into two categories- people Madara respects, and people he doesn't. Deidara falls into the former, as do a few other select employees. I was brought into the company as Madara's right hand man- in actuality, I don't actually do much. I'm there to flank him and look important at meetings, as well as dealing with the hiring and firing of employees. I do whatever Madara delegates in my direction, which includes his dirty work.

It's no secret Madara created the position to help me out when I was in a bind, which has caused a lot of animosity towards me. Fortunately not everyone feels that way- Deidara is amongst them, and has become quite a good friend to me over time. However his breed of comfort is avoidance, because he has absolutely no idea how to deal with someone who is grieving. It's common for outside people to pretend horrific events haven't happened, purely because they don't know how to approach it.

He even skipped the funeral. He turned up on my doorstep in the evening, carrying takeout in a small brown paper bag and grinning at me when I answered the door. I allowed myself to grieve on that day so I answered his incessant knocking with a glass of whiskey in my hand, eyes bloodshot and cheeks drenched with tears. He just held the bag up and declared he knew I wouldn't have eaten, before pushing past me and ignoring the state I was in. Part of me was glad he was being tactful, but another part of me wanted to scream at him to just _acknowledge_ I'd cremated my brother hours beforehand rather than dishing up food onto plates and chatting endlessly about his day.

I don't feel much like eating but Madara's scrutinising gaze refuses to leave me, so I break small portions of the bagel off to prove I am at least going to try. He doesn't stop watching me until I've eaten over a quarter of it, when he finally turns his attention to Deidara.

"You're going to be late if you don't leave in the next minute," he warns.

Deidara clearly knows better than to point out we all start work at the same time, packing away his sketchbook and snatching up his coffee. "I'll see you at the office," he calls, exiting the coffee shop in a rushed whirlwind and leaving us alone.

"We'll be late too if we don't leave," I point out, speaking the words I know Deidara would have been thinking.

"Ah, but Itachi," Madara sighs as he sips his coffee. Plain, black, no sugar- his tastes come as no surprise. "I am the boss, and you are my subordinate. We don't have to follow the same rules as the cattle."

I bite my tongue at how that is clearly unfair, not to mention a bad example, slipping from my chair and throwing what's left of the bagel into the trash before Madara can comment on it. He frowns in disapproval regardless, getting the hint and standing as well. I keep the coffee- the taste is oddly comforting.

It's a short walk to the corporate building and we make it there only a couple of minutes late. People greet us politely or nod in our direction, which is returned by Madara as we head across the lobby for the elevator. We share an office on the ninth floor- it's spacey and has a nice view of the city, though I'm more thankful our desks are on opposite sides of it.

Madara's secretary greets us both with a smile, tapping away on her computer while talking to a client via her phone headset. I know very little about her except her name is Sakura and she was once interested in my brother. She, at least, has had the decorum not to bring up what happened, but she took a few days of leave when the news spread. I had to file her request, ticking the boxes allowing her compassionate leave before Madara could see it.

By the time I'm settled at my desk it's approaching ten past eight. I won't be leaving the confines of this floor until ten past six now, and that suits me just fine. I dislike being home in the apartment Sasuke and I shared, staring at the empty spaces where he should be.

-.-.-

Madara makes his earlier intentions on the train disturbingly clear to me later that afternoon. I'm working through my lunch break, as I often do, when he brings me a coffee and sits on the edge of my desk. Coffee is another food group in this corporation- I have to wonder where most of us would be if it suddenly vanished tomorrow.

"Why are you taking a working lunch?" Madara enquires, completely disregarding the building's no smoking policy by lighting one of the fancy cigarettes he always seem to carry with him. I ignore him in favour of my work, so he gets my attention by leaning across and switching my computer monitor off, raising an eyebrow at me to reiterate his enquiry. Uchihas talk in glares and silent glances, and I know exactly what he is trying to say.

"I'm not hungry," I explain, though I know he won't buy it.

"You barely touched your breakfast. You've been losing weight these last couple of months, Itachi."

I almost snap at him for the observation. It's obvious I'm hardly the embodiment of health right now- my mind is too preoccupied to be worried about such small acts like eating well. However voicing my thoughts would be alluding to why I'm this way, which I'm not willing to do. It isn't like he doesn't realise this- he's just riling me, as he often does.

"I know you think I'm just trying to annoy you," he points out, and I mentally curse how readable I've become. "But despite what you may believe I'm trying to look out for you. I don't want you collapsing a month from now because you're so stressed."

I can't argue that Madara doesn't care. He does- I wouldn't be working for him if he didn't. He gave me compassionate leave, even if I refused to take it. Unfortunately, just like Deidara, the way he cares is with very little empathy and bordering on inept. Deidara avoids- Madara tackles the issue head on. I've always known this but up to today, he hasn't used this method with me.

"You aren't a robot," Madara informs me. "So why do you insist on acting like one?"

"I act professional when I'm at work," I argue. "Are you saying you'd _like_ me to be a sobbing, useless mess instead?"

"No, Itachi. I'd like to act like you actually cared for your brother instead of just suppressing the fact he even existed."

Madara couldn't be further from the truth, and his interpretation angers me. I glare at him, narrowing my eyes dangerously to make my point clear. He, as an Uchiha, is immune to such looks. He stares back dispassionately, waiting for me to speak.

"How did you come to that decision?" I ask, wishing for an explanation before I jump to my own conclusions.

"You avoid talking about him," Madara explains evenly. "That photo of you guys when you were younger on your desk? Don't think I haven't noticed it's missing. You-"

"I understand your point," I interrupt smoothly. "But I'm afraid you're incorrect."

Madara leans closer to me, lowering his voice despite the fact we're alone in the office. The action puts me on edge. "Then what happened this morning on the train? You ran away, Itachi. Even now you're resistant- you don't want to talk about it."

"Of course I don't," I reply through my gritted teeth. "What are you getting at?"

"I already said. I don't want you to become so overwhelmed in a few months time that you try to jump off of a bridge or something. I know your type- you self destruct just like anybody else, but you do it quietly."

His intentions are good- I understand that much, but his execution is terrible. I shouldn't be surprised. In a fit of irritation I open the top drawer of my desk, pulling out the small packet of prescription pills I take each day and tossing them on the desk.

"I'm more stable than you realise," I lie. The anti depressants don't take away the overwhelming sense of loss, but Madara doesn't need to know this. "I appreciate your concern, but it's misplaced."

Madara studies the new object on the table curiously. The purple and white box doesn't tell him much other than the product's name so he opens it, pulling out the leaflet for more information. Confident I've made my point I flick my monitor back on, wishing to get back to work and avoid this line of conversation any further. Madara lets me, absorbed in the leaflet.

"These aren't a cure for the natural grieving process," Madara finally says quietly, before he gets up and leaves me alone. The silence he leaves behind him with the box is deafening, prompting me to get up and take my lunch break after all- anything to leave the suddenly stifling office.

-.-.-

The train ride home is stunted and awkward, sharing the same atmosphere as our office has done all afternoon. Madara doesn't even say goodbye when he exits at his stop, and I am in no mood to call after him to offer one myself.

The walk from the train station to my apartment isn't long, but I deliberately take my time. I hate going home- those first few moments of walking in to silence are overwhelming. After the day I've had I contemplate heading to the cathedral instead, but I shake the thought away. I mustn't get into the habit of running there any more than I already do. Instead I bypass the apartment completely when I arrive, getting straight into my car instead to take a drive.

Sasuke liked my car. It's sleek, attractive and he always envied it- I offered to sell it when we were in financial straits but Sasuke refused to let me. He says it was because he'd miss it too much, but we both knew he couldn't bear to see me part with the first thing I've saved up for and bought for myself. He would often request that we go for a drive- no destination in mind, just us and the radio on low, careening through the backstreets and enjoying the time spent together. I treasure those moments more than ever now.

Getting into the car and turning the radio on, set to take the same journey we took together on so many evenings, threatens to rip my heart from my chest. Infuriatingly, Madara is right about one thing. I'm tense, and one day I'm going to self destruct- despite his earlier insinuation I'm not suicidal, but there are certainly days where I wonder if Sasuke is in the better place out of us both.

In a misguided attempt to distract myself I pull the chocolate bar I was given yesterday from my pocket, breaking another square off of it. My eyes catch the name Kisame once more and for a fleeting moment, I consider actually calling the man. Perhaps airing my soul to a complete stranger would be the best option because I'm none too fond of the idea of falling to pieces in my car, which threatens on the horizon.

Before I can talk myself out of it I have my small silver phone in my hand, tapping in the unfamiliar number and dialling it. I let it ring twice before my mind catches up with my actions- I can't disconnect the call quickly enough, launching the phone onto the dashboard as though it has just burnt my hand.

I collect it a few moments later and get out of the car, finishing the chocolate as I walk, heading towards the local supermarket. It would be easier to drive but I can't stomach being near my car, despite the chilly February winds circling me. Madara's comments about my weight have hit home because I know he's right- I've been living off one meal a day, if a hastily made sandwich or a tin of soup constitutes as a meal.

The bright lights of the supermarket are almost blinding, and I can't remember the last time I actually set foot in here. I've been ordering food online, clicking 'repeat last order' every couple of weeks and barely thinking about it. The sudden feeling that I can have anything I fancy is one that puts a small smile on my face, which is most welcome right now.

The supermarket has a cafe and it swiftly occurs to me that this is a new sanctuary- not somewhere to mourn, but somewhere to retreat to instead of my own home. I set the basket I've picked up aside and head straight for it, eager for something warm to take the chill out of my body. The special of the day is tomato soup, which feels almost like a taunt knowing my brother's favourite food was tomatoes. I order it anyway, taking it and a hot chocolate to a corner table next to the window. It overlooks the car park- hardly a great view but it's new, and that's enough for now.

Food always tastes better when you haven't had to prepare it, or perhaps it's because the soup is fresh and not tinned, but I've never tasted anything as good in a long time. Even the bread it comes with is fresh and still slightly warm, and I'm starkly reminded that these things are not considered luxuries in my part of the world normally.

I stay in the corner of the cafe for at least an hour, nursing the hot chocolate until it grows cool and then simply cradling the empty mug in an attempt to not get thrown out. The supermarket is open twenty four hours but the cafe isn't- the staff are clearly winding down, so I offer them the chance to close up by vacating my table when they begin to send beseeching glances in my direction.

I retrieve my abandoned basket and wander aimlessly, pretending that I know what I'm looking for to relieve the shame of actively avoiding my home. It is ridiculous- I know this, yet I'm still doing it. Today I just can't bear the thought of the emptiness, to the extent that I'm seriously considering sleeping in my car. The sense of loss grips me most strongly at night, when I'm alone and without distractions. Nightmares plague me- over the counter sedatives aren't enough and I daren't ask the doctor for any that are stronger.

My cell phone makes me jump when it rings. I'm not expecting any calls and as I pull it from my pocket and inspect the caller ID, I'm greeted with a foreign number that I don't have programmed in. It still looks familiar, and when I make the connection I almost drop the phone in fright.

Kisame is attempting to return the call I made earlier.

Instead of answering it I continue to stare, eyes slightly wide in shock. It didn't even occur to me that he would try to call me back. I always assumed that the ball was in my court, not his, but by calling without blocking my number first I've handed said ball to him without even realising.

I want to ignore it, but the emptiness is eating me tonight- I've already sunk low enough to waste my evening meandering around a supermarket, so I don't feel I have much else to lose.

"Hello?" I answer quietly.

"The guy from the cathedral, right?" He points out, and it occurs to me I could pretend I have no idea what he's talking about. However it seems to be a rhetorical comment, as he has recognised my voice. "You called. I knew you would."

"It was a mistake," I insist, slightly irritated that I've been predicted so easily.

"You accidently typed my number in and dialled it?"

"That isn't what I meant."

Kisame chuckles, knowing I'm just making excuses. "Did you call for any particular reason?"

"I don't know," I tell him truthfully.

"Alright. Why don't you give me your name instead?"

I hesitate, unsure if I want to. Giving my name is like extending a hand of friendship, and I don't know if I want to do that.

"Itachi," I finally reply, so softly he may not even hear me.

"Itachi," he repeats, the syllables rolling off of his tongue like he's testing them.

I say no more, keeping the phone to my ear as I pretend I'm interested in the ingredient list on the loaf of bread in my hand. Just having someone on the other end of the line is more reassuring than I ever could have imagined, even if that someone is a stranger. The fact he's impartial to my situation adds to that comfort.

"It's been a rough day," I finally offer by way of explanation, feeling I owe him that much at least. "I'm sorry to waste your time."

I hang up and shut my phone off immediately, resolving to never turn it on again and save myself the embarrassment I'm now feeling. It's unlike me to reach for comfort and it makes me uncomfortable. Sasuke is still gone whether I talk about it or not- that is the most important thing to note.

By the time I leave the supermarket it's approaching eleven, once again walking the frigid streets towards my dreaded home. I eye my car once it's within my view, sorely tempted to take up on my earlier thought of sleeping in it, but the bag in my hand contains items for the fridge so I make my way towards the apartment block instead. Letting myself inside, I take the stairs instead of the elevator, wishing to delay the inevitable.

Opening the door is just as painful as I anticipated, causing me to slam it behind myself in a selfish act designed to create some noise. Sasuke slammed the door every time- I used to chastise him for it, too.

I put the shopping away quickly and make my way straight to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. It's one of the only rooms that hasn't changed because it's mine- Sasuke was rarely here, because he had his own room. I can imagine he's still here, locked away in his room or watching television in the lounge. The thought momentarily washes over me and my mind runs away with itself- it's a dangerous game, because all that's left is the crippling barrenness when my mind catches up and reminds me it's all pretty lies.

I strip my clothes and collapse onto my bed, closing my eyes and hoping that sleep will come before that realisation takes hold of me. Sasuke is here, I tell myself almost desperately. He's here, and he isn't going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 2

**2.**

The night is rough and my sleep interrupted, as it usually is. I finally give up at five thirty, pulling myself wearily from the soft covers of my bed and heading straight for a warm shower. The spray pulls me from my tired state as I let it wash over my head, ignoring the sting as water drips into my eyes from my soaked bangs. This is a new ritual since Sasuke's death. There are many new rituals.

Since I procured the effort to go shopping I decide to make breakfast, feeling almost proud of the small act. I tell myself that is ridiculous, trying to ignore the empty seat across from me at the table.

There are days when Sasuke's lack of presence makes itself known through even the smallest of things. The silence, the empty chair- they are noticeable on even the best days. However when I wash up my breakfast things I'm reminded they are the only things on the draining board, and when I go to make coffee I notice that the brand of tea he used to drink is still untouched on the counter. Despite not being fond of the taste I open the packet for the first time in two months, one week and four days and fix myself one.

I almost want to call into work sick. The idea of having to face Madara after yesterday is not something I want to do, especially not today when my sense of self is so fragile. Outside of the cathedral, I cope. That is all he and others need to know. However, Madara knows me too well and would see straight through me to the real reason why I chose to be absent- I can't allow that, so I head off to get dressed for work instead.

As I open the wardrobe I catch my own reflection in the full length mirror on the inside of the door. Normally I just ignore it but Madara's words about my weight cause me to stop and stare at my projected image. I'm not vain by any means, but I take a moment to assess myself.

I've always been quite slender but my ribs are now starting to become prominent. I'm paler that usual, the dark circles under my eyes are more pronounced, and it occurs to me I look like I've aged ten years recently. My hair, limp and wet around my shoulders, doesn't shine like it used to. I grab the first shirt I can see from the hanger and close the door, the realisation that my body is betraying me stinging sharply. I present a united front to the world, but even strangers can see I'm struggling.

Strangers like Kisame. The reason why he chose me out of all of the people in the cathedral is clearer than ever, and I hate him with an unreasonable passion for picking up on my flaws. I toy with the idea of buying myself a new phone as I blow dry my hair, ignoring the sensible part of my brain telling me to stop being melodramatic.

I'm ready to leave earlier than I need to be, but that doesn't stop me making my way to the train station anyway. I could catch the earlier train but I won't- Madara expects to see me on the seven fourteen train, and right now I don't want to draw even more attention to myself by actively avoiding him. Instead I sit on one of the cold, metal blue benches at the station and let the white and blue train go past at six forty eight, trying to ignore the blast of warm air emitted from it when the doors open near me.

Once the passengers have dispersed, either on or off the train, I'm left alone on the platform save for a member of staff and two young schoolboys who seem to be waiting for someone. Mostly empty. The reflection to my current life doesn't go unnoticed. The human mind's defensive mechanism to pain is sometimes frightening, giving me the momentary thought to just jump in front of the train instead of boarding it, but I pay it no heed- it's just my mind attempting to comprehend my anguish and not a real urge. I'll keep living, no matter how flimsily, because Sasuke can't.

My brother defined me. I hate to admit it even mentally, but everyone knows it's true. I was Itachi, Sasuke's big brother. I was the one who kept him in line when he was acting up, or the one who praised him when he did well. I wasn't happy unless I was looking out for Sasuke and now that I don't have to, I have nothing else left. It's sad, but sickeningly true. It's for this reason that everyone is expecting me to fall apart before their very eyes. I'm just Itachi now, and it's a title that doesn't fit.

By the train glides up next to me all I want to do is go home, or perhaps find a different spot so Madara can't find me. I do neither thing, taking my usual seat instead. The train rests at the station for four minutes before it leaves, since it's the first stop on the line and can be afforded the luxury of doing so. It adds four minutes of torture to me.

Madara's eventual arrival at my side is more anticlimactic than I anticipated. He breezes in and sits down with his newspaper, giving me a nod and burying himself in the finance section. I decline to look over his shoulder for once. It's such a small act, but he notices- it is my undoing, and it causes him to finally lower the newspaper and give me sidelong glance.

"You look tired," he observes. He is correct, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a confirmation. "Are you still having nightmares?"

I haven't told him I have been, but questioning how he knows is also confirmation. I prefer to stay silent and pretend not to hear him, looking out the window at the scenery as we sidle by it.

"It's one of those days, is it?" Madara sighs. "Talking to you is like getting blood out of a stone sometimes."

That's precisely my intention, and thankfully he drops the conversation. I'm not naive enough to think that's the end of it, however. We sit in agonising silence- I am the prey and Madara is the hunter, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce once more. It falls as we are walking from the train station to the office, and in a manner I least expect.

Outside of an upmarket clothing store Madara grabs my arm and yanks me inside. Surprised, I stumble in after him and allow the door to be closed behind me. I don't question his objective as he walks me towards a full length mirror, standing critically at my side and pointing at our shared reflection.

"Look," he says needlessly, since our eyes are locked in the mirror already. "Look at you."

"You already gave your opinion on my weight yesterday," I tell him curtly.

"Your weight?" Madara mutters under his breath. "Your _weight_?" He repeats, louder and incredulously. "Itachi, I'm talking about your _eyes_! You're walking dead on the best of days but today-"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head slowly before resting a hand on my shoulder. It confuses me- Madara doesn't care in conventional ways, but the act is most definitely sympathetic.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" He finally asks, his hand falling to his side.

I understand. I understand far too well what he means. I close my eyes to prevent him catching me lie as I turn away, walking for the exit.

"No," I call over my shoulder. "And we're going to be late for work."

Madara doesn't protest. I hadn't expected him to. He's pushed this as far as he's willing, and I'm acutely aware I'm now on my own as we walk silently from the store.

My uncle waits until we're entering the building to tell me we're going to a meeting. I usually have no arguments, since all I do at meetings is observe and pretend to be interested, but today I had hoped for something to keep my mind occupied. It's been months since the last meeting, so I should have been expecting it.

Sakura meets us on the lobby of the ninth floor, giving us a slightly nervous smile.

"Your clients are ready," she whispers apologetically, despite the fact I know we are the ones who should be apologising for our tardiness.

"Thank you Sakura," Madara tells her smoothly, indicating for her to head back to her desk. She does so, leaving Madara to escort me down the hall to the meeting room at the end.

The meeting room is small and basic- a long table running through the centre of it, with chairs around it and a whiteboard at the front. It's almost like a classroom, but with a much nicer view from the large windows on the side. Madara bows lightly, mirrored by myself, and doesn't offer an explanation for why we are late. No-one asks.

Madara stands up at the whiteboard and I sit in the empty chair at his side, crossing one leg at the knee and attempting to look both intimidating and sophisticated. I am an Uchiha- I pull it off flawlessly. No-one is looking at me regardless, all eyes on my uncle as he begins to jot things on the whiteboard and presents the company's latest to the board officials in the room.

Uchiha Corporation is part of an umbrella of companies called simply Akatsuki, run by the Nagato and his partner, Konan. They are both present at the table- Nagato is opposite me, looking at Madara rapturously, while Konan is at his side examining her nails. Apparently she has no qualms about showing her boredom. I recognise the head of finance, Kakuzu, sitting next to me and Zetsu from marketing. All the usual faces and all the usual discussions, letting me switch my mind off and try to distract myself from my thoughts of Sasuke.

That is, until I hear my brother's name spill from Madara's lips. It's so out of place I think I must have misheard him, but when he continues it seems that isn't the case.

"-Uchiha Sasuke was tragically killed in an automobile accident a couple of months ago. I've been waiting to see you in person, Nagato, to sanction some paid compassionate leave for Itachi here."

Nagato's eyes are on me, slightly narrowed in what looks like it might be concern. "Relation to the deceased?" He asks. He might be addressing me, but I don't answer so it's up to Madara to do so.

"Brother."

"Then why on earth is he even here?" Nagato exclaims, shaking his head. "He should have been signed off immediately!"

"I tried. However, he doesn't listen to reason. I hoped that you might persuade him- I apologise for bringing this up at a meeting, but I must take drastic measures to be heard it seems."

What he's actually saying is his attempts for the last two days have fallen on deaf ears, and he hates to be defeated in any area of life. Konan's looking at me with compassionate eyes- I keep my gaze on Madara, steady and schooled into blankness. I will not give him the satisfaction of winning this war.

"Madara," I say smoothly. "I assure you, I don't need to take any leave. I explained this at the time."

"I disagree," he argues. Of course he does. "You've been using work as a distraction. You need some time to grieve-"

"I do not!" I interrupt sharply. "Things are under control."

"Have you taken any notice of your reflection lately?" Madara hisses. "I wasn't joking this morning! You've been slipping for the past two months since his death but you're so _stubborn_ you refuse to acknowledge it!"

"This is inappropriate discussion for a meeting," I tell him firmly. "We can discuss this in private later."

Since he's been speaking in code, I've switched to cipher of my own. My words really mean 'I'm going to yell at you for mortifying me in front of the company officials'. I'm sure the insinuation doesn't escape his ever-perceptive notice.

He continues the meeting like nothing's happened, only now I'm getting sympathetic glances from Nagato and Konan. Kakuzu and Zetsu are less affected, but as we all get up to leave I spy them stealing a glance of me as well. I don't wait for Madara as I exit the room, stalking back to the office and throwing myself down in my chair. I'm shaking with rage- I rarely lose my temper, but Madara has managed to hit all the right buttons. He always does. He's a master of unravelling my carefully crafted disguises.

He breezes in a few minutes later, having the gall to look _smug_, like he's made progress here. He wastes no time approaching my desk, and it's a small miracle that I don't simply smack him and storm off. I give myself some credit- I have a better hold on my temper than that.

"What the _hell_ was that?" I hiss at him. He has one chance to explain himself.

"You need a week off," Madara tells me. "You need some time to stop and just _realise_ that he's dead and he isn't coming back."

"Why do I need that?" I ask sharply. "I can think of no valid reason."

"I'm going to tell you," my uncle tells me, snatching some paper from my inbox tray and turning it over. I can only hope it wasn't too important. He pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbles on the paper, pushing it across the desk at me.

He has written 'the stages of grief' on there, with seven neat bullet points. Before I can read them he snatches the paper back and taps the first point on the page with his pen.

"Shock and denial," he intones. "You've done this stage. The next is pain and guilt. It's important not to hide or try to escape from this stage, Itachi."

He doesn't give me a chance to interject, moving swiftly to the next point.

"Anger and bargaining. This has never been something you do usually, but even right now you're angry-"

"I'm angry because you brought up something extremely personal to my peers!"

He ignores my sensible, logical explanation.

"Fourth stage," he continues. "The depression stage- the lonely stage, the one where you reflect. This is something you're trying to deal with yourself, but anyone can look at you and see that you're failing. What did you do last night?"

The question throws me off guard. I don't want to answer it but I also can't think of a lie on the spot, and it causes me to stutter. Madara seizes my hesitation immediately.

"If you can't just tell me you went home and read a book or something, then you did something you feel you need to hide. What was it?"

"I went shopping," I finally reply quietly.

"All evening?"

"All evening," I confirm.

Madara sighs heavily and folds the paper up, putting it in his pocket and giving me a firm glare. "You're family," he says simply. "I look out for my family, even if they're infuriating bastards like you."

"Sasuke was family," I point out acidly.

"And I have been mourning for his loss. You're different though- he meant everything to you."

He turns and heads back towards his desk, sinking into his chair and giving me another glare from across the room, before he buries himself in a drawer next to his desk. I can't deny that I'm intrigued, until he comes back to me with a pink slip in his hand.

"I don't want to do this," he declares. "But I will. I will fire you right now if you don't agree to go home and take some time to truly come to terms with what you've lost here."

I stare at him, eyes wide with shock. Madara always keeps his word- no-one else would hire me in my current state, and I wouldn't have the willpower to look. Without money to pay the rent I'd have to move from the apartment- _Sasuke_ and I's apartment. The thought almost takes my breath away, tightening my chest.

"You're bribing me," I tell him harshly. He shrugs, aware and unbothered by the notion.

"You have one week of paid leave," he says, waving the pink slip in a threatening manner. "If you don't get the fuck out of my sight in the next two minutes, this slip will be yours."

I hate being cornered. I hate being bribed. I hate Madara, I hate the way things are currently shaping up in life, and I _hate_ the thought of going home to my empty apartment. Regardless I stand up, glaring at Madara all the way to the door that I make sure to slam behind me.

-.-.-

The journey home by train is much quieter than I am used to, considering I'm travelling off peak. My usual seat is taken. It does nothing to appease my mood.

Madara is right. He's done all of this before- he's lost people, and he's grieved for them. He knows what he's talking about and he recognises all the signs I'm trying to cover easily. Despite choosing the most obtrusive manners of dealing with it, he has made a good point. I am still in denial, and I am still overwhelming lonely.

It occurs to me that I have a phone number in my pocket that will help with the latter- I kept the screwed up chocolate wrapper, even after telling myself to throw it away. My phone is still off from the night before, and I hesitantly switch it back on once more.

When it is synched it tells me I have a new text message. Just one, not the flood I had been expecting. It reads 'In your own time, Itachi.'

I recognise enough of the number to know it's from Kisame. I appreciate his etiquette, even if I'm still not entirely sure why he even offered his ear in the first place. Catching my own reflection in the window next to me causes me to sigh, closing my eyes- of course I know why. As Madara said, I barely look like I belong amongst the living, and I can only imagine how wretched I must have looked in the cathedral that day.

I appreciate Kisame's attempts at understated concern so much that I decide to return the text message. So far everything he's done has been kind, so I hope that whatever he responds with will be pleasant- I need something to make me smile right now, after all.

I struggle with what to write, feeling suddenly awkward with my fingers poised over my keys. Eventually I force myself to write what I'm thinking, which is 'thank you- why are you doing this?'

I don't have to wait long for a reply. My phone beeps a minute or so later, giving me his response. 'Because you looked like you needed a friend.'

My fingers fly over the keys quickly, before I can change my mind. 'Are you free this afternoon? We could go for lunch.'

I can't believe I'm asking a complete stranger to share lunch with me. As soon as I've sent it I curse mentally and wish I could take it back- it's a ridiculous, outgoing motion that is entirely unlike me, but right now I will do _anything_ to avoid having to go home.

Kisame doesn't seem to think so. His speedy response is 'I'll meet you outside the cathedral at one pm?', and I reply with a positive. The messages halt and I finally put my phone away, returning my gaze to the window. I'm not sure I want to go near the cathedral right now- being so close to it might be tempting, and the last thing I want to do is break down because I don't know if I'll ever recover.

The rest of the journey flies by and I'm soon getting off at my stop. The day is icy- my breath is visible on the air and the ground is slippery with frost. I thrust my hands into my pockets and take the long walk into town instead of going to fetch my car. I'm in no hurry- I have plenty of time.

By the time I reach the town I have been brusquely reminded I don't tolerate chilly weather, and never have done. I'm so cold I can't stop shivering despite my coat, and I realised I was in dire need of a bathroom when I was the correct distance from the train station to warrant not turning back for it. A miracle of wintry conditions- there is a scientific reason for this little inconvenience, but I can't recall it because my mind is as frozen as the rest of me.

I stop in at the coffee shop opposite the cathedral, thankful for the warm air that greets me as I gratefully push the door open. The clock inside tells me it's only twelve, so I have ample time to pass before going outside to meet my impromptu lunch partner. I have to wonder if he thinks of me as pathetic for taking him up on his offer, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if he's even going to show up at all.

I needn't have worried. Sitting at a table in the corner is Kisame himself- he notices me and gives me a small smile, beckoning to me to join him. The stubborn part of my mind wants to tell him it's an hour early so I'm not mentally prepared for our meeting yet, but I don't. Instead I walk to his table, giving him a weak smile.

"What do you drink?" He asks, giving me the same brilliant smile he gave me when we first met. "I'll get it."

I want to argue with him that I can pay my own way but I'm far too fed up to care, shrugging my indifference. "I don't mind. Thank you."

He makes his way to the counter, giving me a moment to slip off to the bathroom. I call my intention to him and he nods in acknowledgement, leaving me to close the door, lean against it and try to calm my racing heart. I have no idea why I'm so nervous about this. I tell myself it's no different than lunch with Deidara, but it's futile. I feel awkward around Kisame- we didn't meet under the most ideal circumstances, nor are we going to share lunch under them either. We aren't even friends. We know nothing more than each other's names. I curse that the window in the room is tiny, because the temptation to climb out of it and escape is overpowering.

When I make my way back to Kisame he has a mocha waiting for me. I have no complaints about the choice, sitting opposite him and wrapping my hands around the warm mug appreciatively.

"I got into town early," he says conversationally. "I guess you did too?"

"I came straight from work," I explain, without giving any further details about why I have my afternoon free.

"What do you do?"

"I work under the CEO of the Uchiha Corporation."

"Oh," Kisame replies blankly. He clearly has no idea what I'm talking about. I wonder if he'll share his own occupation but he doesn't, sipping his coffee instead. I don't bother to ask- it's none of my business. "That sounds pretty hot shot," he remarks with a grin. "So how'd you manage to get the afternoon off from such an important job, huh?"

What I want to say is not what comes out of my mouth. "My boss bribed me into taking compassionate leave."

Kisame looks confused, which I don't blame him for. I still haven't quite grasped Madara's plan yet either. He doesn't say anything more on the subject and I don't elaborate either.

"Shall we go into the cathedral before we head for lunch?" Kisame suggests, indicating out of the window to the majestic building across the street from us. Tourists surround it, cameras in their hands, posing with friends for photographs. There is a ticket gate- you have to pay to enter, unless you state that you're there to worship or you live in the surrounding catchment area. I do, and so I received a free pass upon applying for one.

Kisame's expecting an answer and I have no idea what to say. I'd like to go in, because I'm here and lighting a candle for my brother helps me feel closer to him. On the other hand I know I'm going to fall to pieces if I step inside, and I don't want an audience. Even if Kisame saw me last time, that doesn't mean I want to repeat that.

"No," I decline. "I'd like to go straight for lunch, thank you."

He doesn't protest and we sip our coffees in silence. My eyes stray to the cathedral once more almost longingly- walking into the building washes a feeling of consolation over me, like I'm being encircled by comforting arms that allow me to forget all of my walls and disguises. It's just what I need, but I refuse to give in to it. Madara wins that way, if nothing else.

"Which are you?" Kisame asks, noticing my gaze. It takes me a moment to realise what he means, but when he gestures to the cathedral I understand.

"Anglican Catholic," I reply. It's the short answer, considering these days I am probably the worst kind of sinner. It's been a long time since I adhered to the correct rules to allow myself to be called so. Most of my ways died with my parents when I was seven.

I have to wonder what it is about Sasuke's death that feels so different to the death of my parents. They were murdered- a tragic end for anyone that would surely cause trauma to everyone that loved them. However my memories of them are vague, and my memories of the time immediately after their deaths even vaguer. I don't remember much about it except being sent to live with Madara, as our closest surviving relative. I think of them and I feel sad, but it doesn't crush me like thinking about Sasuke does. Perhaps it's the passing of time, or perhaps it isn't. Only time will tell.

I appreciate that Kisame isn't pushing for any details about me. He seems comfortable in my company, and I feel slightly guilty that I'm so tense in return.

"Who did you lose?" I ask quietly, deciding that if this man wants me to open up to him, I'd like to know more about his experiences and intentions. I won't guarantee I'll ever open up, but I am curious. The way he looks at me- it's empathy, not pity.

"My Papa," he replies, in a casual tone that suggests it was a long time ago and he is comfortable admitting such a fact. "He was killed out at sea twenty years ago."

"How old were you?" I enquire, frowning slightly as I try to work out his age from looking, and how old he would have been.

"Nine."

He doesn't look twenty nine. Then again I assume I don't look twenty one either, especially not these days. "I lost my parents when I was seven," I offer before hesitating, wondering whether to elaborate on the more recent loss before deciding I owe the man that much at least. He's spending his time with me to help me feel better- I should tell him why. "I also lost my-"

I can't bring myself to say it. He's staring at me, waiting patiently for me to continue, and I can't bring myself to even _say_ it out loud. Fuck Madara- fuck him and his observant nature and bullet pointed stages of grief that are oh-so-correct.

"It's okay," Kisame rescues me swiftly. "You lost someone recently too- I understand. You don't have to tell me about it."

"Then why are we _here_?" I ask, frustrated with him, myself, Madara, life and all the in-betweens.

"You keep asking me that," he says diplomatically. "Itachi- let's settle that question. When I saw you in the cathedral I saw myself at nine years old, desperately missing my Papa with no-one to turn to. I couldn't bear the thought of someone else having to go through what I did then. It's really that simple- it was an impulsive act of kindness, and since you took me up on it I'm even happier that I spoke to you."

"What are we supposed to achieve then?"

He smiles at me again. He offers smiles so easily, and I feel almost jealous. "Some stability," he replies, surprising me. "After my Papa died I didn't know what to do with myself day after day. It was only when I began to get into a routine and had something to look forward to did I begin to find my place in the world again."

I have routines. I go to the cathedral on my days off, and I go to work each morning. I don't feel any less empty for it. I don't tell Kisame this.

"When someone close to you dies, the world you know is turned upside down," he continues, his voice soft and pensive. "I don't need to tell you that I'm sure. It takes time but you can turn it all the right way round again."

He gestures to the door, indicating that we should leave- we've been cradling empty mugs for the last ten minutes. I don't argue and follow him back out into the chilly air, wrapping my coat tightly around myself and burying my hands into my pockets. My fingers connect with the chocolate wrapper once more, and it causes a fleeting smile to flicker across my lips.

"What type of food do you like?" Kisame asks as we stand outside the coffee shop, looking up at the cathedral. "There's an Italian restaurant near here I'd like to try."

I let him lead me to it, realising as we walk that I might know where he means. Sasuke and I visited an Italian restaurant on his birthday three years ago that happened to be in this area. As we approach it I realise that it is the same one- it's too late to back out now so I enter with him, hoping it doesn't bring back too many memories.

The decor is different than I remember- at least, it must be, since I'm not immediately inundated with recollections of my last visit. That said I remember sinking a few too many glasses of wine that day, so perhaps that's why. Sasuke was annoyed that I was legally old enough to drink and I wouldn't share with him, arguing that even though he was underage he would be sensible. The memory makes me want to both smile and frown. It's for that reason I don't discourage Kisame passing me the wine list, choosing a glass of the same wine I drank then.

"You are old enough, right?" He chuckles, and I frown sharply at him in an indication that his joke isn't funny.

I've already made up my mind to pay the bill for lunch. I instigated it- it's only fair. Unlike a few years ago, I have money to my name now- Madara took care of that. I moved out of his care at the age of sixteen, taking Sasuke with me and declaring that I could support us both. As soon as I finished my education I went straight into working menial jobs, doing anything to bring home a wage to pay the rent, put food on the table, and act like a responsible person. Of course, one overworked teenager does not make a family unit, and we struggled. We were one more late rent payment away from being kicked out when I finally approached Madara four years later, explaining the situation and asking for a loan.

Madara understands pride all too well. He knew how desperate I was if I was asking for his help, so he told me no. At first I was angry, but I soon realised that I couldn't expect to be helped just because I'd swallowed my pride and asked for it. When I got home there was a message waiting for me on the answer-phone, telling me he'd opened a position for me at Uchiha Corporation and I'd start the next morning.

Madara and I don't always see eye to eye, but he's fiercely protective of his family. I dislike his lack of morals and respect for people, but he's always treated Sasuke and I well. When we lived with him he kept out of our way, raising us to be self sufficient- he did a good job, considering he didn't ask to become an impromptu pseudo parent. He knew we were having problems but he also knew how important it was to me to attempt to provide for Sasuke, so he kept out of it- I frequently went without or made up excuses for why things didn't always run smoothly. My brother thought we had plenty of power cuts and burst water pipes, and never once questioned me about it.

I think back to all those evenings sat around candles- Sasuke attempting to study and complaining of eye strain while I'd read a book next to him, giving myself the same strain in some kind of punishment for my lies and failure. It's no surprise the candles at the cathedral connect me to Sasuke.

I realise I'm not being very sociable but Kisame doesn't seem to mind, letting me drift off into my own world while he browses the menu. I'm uncomfortable with it however, so I break the silence.

"The pasta alfredo is nice, Kisame."

"You've been here before?" He questions rhetorically, smiling at me over his menu. Always smiling. "I'll take your recommendation, then."

He sets the menu down, taking my word as important enough to discontinue his browsing. The feeling is slightly humbling- I order the same thing in a show of solidarity that I can't explain.

The waiter returns with my wine and Kisame's orange juice- I almost feel bad that I'm drinking alcohol when he isn't, but I don't know if he's driving or has to go to work later or if he's teetotal. It isn't my place to pry. I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since the night of the funeral. The hangover I gave myself the next day was enough to swear me off of it for life, if nothing else. Whiskey is meant to be consumed in shots, not neat in cocktail glasses.

"Are you left handed?" He asks, catching me off guard. It's such a surreal question and I see no reason for him to ask it, until he indicates to the way I'm holding my knife and fork.

"No," I reply. "This is just the way I was taught to hold cutlery."

"It's the wrong way round then," he chuckles light-heartedly. "A parent was left handed I presume?"

I realise I don't know the answer to that. It disturbs me more than it should and I retreat even further back into my shell by shaking my head slowly. He takes the hint and drops the conversation, only now I'm self conscious of holding my fork in my right hand instead of my left.

If there was an award for the most awkward lunch spent together, I fear we might be awarded it. The pasta alfredo is as good as I remember it being, which is a highlight at least. I'm nursing my second glass of wine while Kisame glances over the dessert menu, when my lips decide they are tired of staying quiet. "My brother," I say quickly. "It was my brother."

Kisame looks up at me, and the empathetic look on his face shows he understands what I'm referring to. "I'm so sorry," he says genuinely, before he returns to his menu. He isn't being brusque or unkind- he's simply staying behind the lines he's drawn himself, not wishing to upset me or tread on my toes.

"The cheesecake is good," I offer, my voice sounding lame to my own ears. He smiles, shrugs and replaces the menu on the table.

"Cheesecake it is then. What will you have, Itachi?"

My sweet tooth begs to be indulged, but I decline by shaking my head. I'm not used to eating much anymore- my pasta sits only half finished in front of me as it is. I concentrate on the soft music the restaurant has chosen- classical piano that suits the environment- and try not to think about the cathedral being so close when I feel that I need its comfort.

A nagging voice in my mind tells me Kisame is here to comfort, too. It isn't the same. This man has no idea what he's getting himself in to, but I can't help but indulge it.

"Ask me," I say quietly. Kisame frowns in confusion, leaving me to elaborate. "Ask me about my brother."

I can't bring myself to talk about him openly, but if Kisame asks questions then I can give him hints of a picture. He can decide if he wants to walk away once he has more facts.

"What was his name?" Kisame asks first, which is the hardest question to answer of all. I freeze and shake my head, unable to bring myself to say it. "Alright," he replies to my silence. "How long ago?"

"Two months, one week and four days."

"That's recent," Kisame nods. "I'm not surprised you're feeling out of sorts. What did he like to do?"

I was expecting Kisame to ask how he died, but instead he asks something I'm not prepared for at all. He asks about Sasuke's _life_, not his death. I really should have guessed he might take this route.

It's another question I can't answer. I have to wonder how many questions I will have to avoid when Kisame tries again.

"Was he older or younger than you?"

"Younger."

"Very young?"

"Sixteen."

When I was sixteen I moved out and became the sole provider for us both. When Sasuke was sixteen, he died. It's a contrast of life beginning and life ending that I just can't take.

"I have to go," I tell Kisame quickly, already standing up and whisking my coat off of the back of my chair. "I'll get the bill on my way. Sorry."

Kisame doesn't protest as I fly across the restaurant, asking to settle the bill for the table and leaving a healthy tip before practically falling out of the door. My first instinct is to head straight for the cathedral but Kisame would likely follow- I can't allow that. I can't allow myself to speak to this man because it's too painful.

Instead I jog through the streets and head back towards the train station, wishing I had another option that isn't the one I'm contemplating. Going home is out of the question, but so is loitering around supermarkets and towns.

There's a train pulling in as I arrive at the station, giving me barely enough time to jump on board and thank that I own a travel pass. It also means I hadn't been able to stop to think about what I'm doing, finding my usual seat thankfully free and settling down to catch my breath.

The three stops to Madara's home town come swiftly and since he lives near the sea, the air is even colder than it had been in my urban town. I almost contemplate getting a taxi but I gave all my physical cash in a tip at the restaurant, so I start walking instead. I'm thankful he lives reasonably close by, finding myself on his doorstep just shy of ten minutes later.

I handed my key over when I moved out. It was another act of being independent, but I'm cursing it now. Madara won't be home for hours, so there's nothing left for me to do except sit on his doorstep and wait. I can't go home, I'm resorting to lunch with strangers in an attempt to straighten my head- I am clearly losing my mind, and Madara is the most grounded person I know.

My pride is stinging, just like last year when I had admit I needed financial help. Madara is disrespectful and arrogant but he also speaks without sugar-coating his words. I need to know exactly where I'm going wrong to fix things, and he is the best person to tell me. He alluded to it earlier but I need to now hear it straight.

I'm a patient person but even I am growing bored by the time Madara arrives home a few hours later. I've long since gone past the point of being cold and am completely numb- the air has only become colder as the day's gone on. Madara stares at me as he rounds the corner and sees me on his doorstep, taken aback by my presence before he collects himself and starts towards me.

"Are you mad?" He asks me bluntly. "How long have you been waiting here?"

I shrug. It's been far too long, and I have no desire to count the hours. Madara continues to stare at me as he stands poised with his key in his hand, scrutinising me. For a moment I wonder if he's going to turn me away, but instead he opens the door and grabs my arm.

"Get in," he hisses, pulling me inside and closing the door swiftly. "When I said go home I meant _your_ home. Was I unclear?"

I don't reply, still shivering despite the warmth of the house. I don't tell him how grateful I am that he let me inside- my pride doesn't allow that on top of the shame of being here in the first place. He offers me a coffee, which I accept immediately, and leads me through to the living room. As he leaves me curled up on the sofa, he hesitates in the doorway and tells me I can get the blanket from his bed if I wish.

He's gone before I can accept or decline- I do the latter, pulling my knees up to my side and blowing into my still-icy hands. I'm warmer by the time Madara rejoins me, sitting opposite me instead of beside me, putting the mugs down on the coffee table between us.

"Are you going to explain?" He asks simply.

I have no idea how to articulate what I need to say. There are so many things but all that tumbles out of my mouth is a simple response, and not what he wants to hear.

"No."

"Fine," he sighs, sitting back in the chair and turning the television on. "In your own time, Itachi."

Kisame's text message to me earlier plays back in my mind at those words. Why does everybody place their faith in time? Time is my worst enemy right now. Time is not healing my wounds, and nor is it going to bring my brother back.


	4. Chapter 3

**3.**

Madara orders takeout, stating that he isn't cooking for both of us. I don't have much of an appetite but he is more stubborn than I, so I let him do whatever he fancies for the sake of saving an argument.

He remembers my favourite pizza topping when he orders. It almost makes me smile that the small, irrelevant details have still etched themselves into his mind. He isn't my father and has never pretended to be, but sometimes I wonder if the tempestuous relationship we have is reminiscent of how my father and I would have been.

"Tell me what I'm doing wrong," I ask him when the strained quiet between us becomes unbearable.

Madara flicks the television off immediately, sighing heavily and fixing his gaze on me. "You aren't allowing yourself to deal with this correctly," he explains. "You need to come to terms with Sasuke's death. It's as simple as that. Allow yourself to feel."

"I do," I reply. "You have no idea how much I feel."

"Enlighten me," Madara suggests. I don't want to, but it's probably a sound idea.

"I go to the cathedral," I admit softly. "I light candles for him and allow myself to grieve."

"That's positive," he says immediately, nodding his approval. "But be cautious- it's very easy to fall into the habit of telling yourself you _can't_ mourn unless you're there."

I have already been snared by this trap. My lack of response tells him this.

"Sasuke wouldn't have wanted you to be this way," he informs me. "He'd want you to be out there, living life just like he was before he died. Grieve when you need to, smile when you need to, and move on when you can."

He makes it sound so easy, but I know he speaks from experience.

"How am I going to move on? You said it yourself- he was everything to me," I ask, my tone frank. I need an answer to this burning question.

"You'll learn to live with it," Madara tells me definitely. "Trust me. Letting yourself take the natural course for grief is only going to be helpful- right now you're tense and stressed, because you're suppressing it. You might be surprised how easy it is once you let go of that suppression."

"Easy?" I echo incredulously, but the doorbell ringing in the distance interrupts us. Madara goes to fetch the pizza delivery and the conversation dies with his departure, leaving me to try and make sense of what he's told me.

I contemplate telling him about Kisame, but ultimately decide against it. After my show today I doubt I'll see him again. I turned my phone off almost as soon as I left the restaurant and have once again kept it that way.

I pick at a single slice of pizza- Madara thankfully doesn't complain at me for it, simply putting the box in the fridge when it's clear we are done with it.

"Are you spending the night?" He asks, and I'm taken by surprise. I assumed I'd be trekking home despite the late hour.

"If that's alright," I agree, but mostly because the idea of going home to my empty flat stings harshly. Madara may have shared some gems of wisdom with me, but that doesn't mean I can take note of them and follow them right away. Nothing's changed.

"If you can make do with the sofa, then you're welcome. Don't wake me up in the night else I'll throw you out."

As always, I know he is deadly serious. I remind myself to tip toe around should I be up in the night, just in case.

We wind down the rest of the evening together with light television and very little chatter. I've exhausted myself of words while Madara doesn't see the need to initiate conversation. It's more comfortable than it initially seemed it would be, and I'm marginally disappointed when at ten pm he declares he's going to bed.

Sleeping in a house with another person in it feels surreal, despite my usual denial at night time that Sasuke is even gone. I hear Madara padding around on the floor above me as I lay down on the sofa, thanking that he turned Sasuke and I's old room into a study when we left. I couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in that room now that Sasuke isn't that to share it.

Madara only had one spare room, but neither of us minded. He confessed after we moved out that he was worried one of us might complain and want privacy, as most adolescents do when they hit their teenage years, but it didn't worry me. Sasuke was eleven when we moved out- only just too young to have worried about such things.

Madara's footfalls stop, leaving me alone with the sound of my own thoughts. I should be tired after the fitful sleep I had last night but I'm not- the day's events whirl through my mind, keeping it active and frustrating me because all I want to do is sleep and get the day over with.

My phone sits on the coffee table and I reach over to pick it up, finally deciding to turn it on and assess the damage I've done. I care what Kisame thinks, even if I struggle to accept the circumstances we met under.

I am once again greeted with a single text message. 'Take care of yourself. You know where I am if you want to talk or go out again sometime.' I'm surprised he hasn't just given up, but I'm also thankful. His words about needing something to look forward to are sensible, and I briefly toy with the idea of scheduling lunch each week with him to do that. I plan to think about it while I attempt to sleep, slipping the phone back into my coat pocket- it's strewn across the coffee table instead of being hung up. I'm surprised Madara didn't complain about it.

After ten minutes it's clear I won't be sleeping any time soon. I pull myself up with a sigh and put my shirt back on, grabbing my coat and Madara's cigarettes from his table. A light test of the patio door shows me it's locked, but the key is hanging nearby so I quietly edge the door open and shut it behind me.

I flit in and out of addictions as and when I choose. I can go entire weeks without even looking at a cigarette and then smoke twenty a day for a month. Madara once alluded that he was jealous of my ability to bypass the addiction stage of such habits, having been snared by nicotine in his teenage years. Right now I need _something_ to do that isn't staring at the ceiling so I will slip back into the habit for the night, lighting one and leaning back against the glass.

The air is below freezing, causing me to shiver and enjoy the respite much less than I had hoped. I pull my phone out of my coat pocket and decide to text Kisame back, hoping I can even hit the keys with my numb fingers. I manage to compose a text message that apologises for the late hour and my behaviour at the restaurant, sending it before I can change my mind about contacting him again.

My phone rings a minute or so later. I'm all too aware I'm standing beneath Madara's bedroom window so I snatch it out of my pocket and answer it immediately, even though I know who it is and would rather not. A glance up tells me Madara's window is shut, thankfully.

"Kisame," I say quietly.

"Hey Itachi," he replies, and I can almost hear him smile with the words. "Don't worry about today. I'm glad you answered- I wasn't sure if you would."

"What is you wanted?"

"If you're up this late I figured you might want some company."

It's a kind statement that I appreciate, even if I don't say it. "Shouldn't you be asleep yourself?"

"Nah," he laughs. "I have plenty of late nights when I'm off work."

It's the first time he's alluded to his own life, and I seize the opportunity to ask him for further details. "What do you do?"

"I work on a boat," he says cheerily. "I've got a month off though."

I'm surprised at his choice, considering he lost his father at sea. I don't bring it up, but he apparently hears my thought.

"My Papa would have loved to see me go into this kind of work," he tells me. "I grew up on harbours and boats, so it was only natural. So what are you up to if you aren't sleeping?"

"I couldn't go home," I admit softly. Talking with Kisame is so much easier when I don't have to look into his bright blue eyes.

"Too many memories?" Kisame sympathises correctly. "It's difficult if you're living in the same place. My aunt came to live with me after Papa died, but we moved to her house eventually."

"When my parents died we came to live with my uncle. I didn't have to worry about it back then."

"It probably made dealing with it easier," he says sagely. I recognise truth in the sentiment, even if I don't remember much about that time. "Plus you were young- you don't realise the full extent of it at that age."

"I didn't," I agree. "It felt different to-"

I still can't bring myself to say Sasuke. Kisame swoops in to rescue me, as he has done a few times now.

"Different to your brother?" He finishes. "Forgive the personal question, but how close were you to your parents?"

"Close enough," I say a little defensively.

"Compared to him?"

I hesitate- without a doubt, I was closer to Sasuke. "I suppose not."

"Perhaps you could ask your uncle to put you up for a while," he suggests. "It would do you some good, even temporarily."

The idea of moving back with Madara is so many steps backwards it makes me balk immediately. "I don't think so," my prides answers for me.

"Just think about it," he urges. "Do you think he would mind?"

"I have no idea," I sigh, tilting my head back softly to the glass. "I would mind."

"Any reason other than pride?"

He's correct. He's alarmingly astute when it comes to reading me. I don't give him a response, which answers his question in itself.

"You don't know me," I say, going straight back to that line of reasoning once more. "Why do you care?"

"We covered this," Kisame tells me patiently. "Have you sorted out his things?"

"What?" I reply dumbly, despite it being a clear question. I haven't touched Sasuke's things. I shut the door to his bedroom and have left it how it was on the day he died. I've carefully stepped around the things in the rest of the house. One of his sweaters is still hanging on the back of the sofa.

"If you're going to move out, are you really going to box all his things up and take them along with you for the rest of your life?" Kisame asks. "I understand you might want to keep a few things, but you can't drag his life around with yours."

I resist the urge to tell him he has no idea what he's talking about because he knows all too well. I do, too. He's being logical- I'm being emotional. It's unlike me, but something about Sasuke wrecks my poise.

"He was _sixteen_," I hiss at him sharply. "I shouldn't have to do that."

"I know you shouldn't," Kisame responds softly. "I know, Itachi."

He says nothing more. I realise I'm shaking, lighting another cigarette in an attempt to distract myself from it.

"Sixteen year olds should be here to deal with their own stuff," I tell him vehemently when I can't just let the argument rest. "What am I supposed to do with it? Throw it away like he never existed?"

"Do whatever makes you comfortable."

"Leaving his things where they are makes me comfortable."

"That isn't sensible."

"A sixteen year old _dying_ isn't sensible!" I shoot back harshly, knowing I'm taking my frustration out on Kisame and unable to stop it.

"But it happened," he says, his voice unchanged. "It's horrible, but it doesn't change it- I don't need to tell you that. You know that, deep down."

"Of course I know that," I snap lightly. "That's why I'm here with my uncle and not at home."

The conversation has come in a full circle and I have nothing left to say. I'm still shaking, and it isn't because of the cold.

"Be kind to yourself," he says quietly. "You're hurting. Grieving doesn't mean you fail- there's no right or wrongs in the process."

"I have never said otherwise."

"You don't have to."

It's such a simple statement but it holds so much weight. I quickly finish the cigarette and open the patio door, slipping back inside and mentally thanking the warmth that engulfs me.

"I'm going to sleep," I say simply.

"Sleep well," Kisame replies- I hadn't expected him to argue. "If you just want to talk, you can call me. How about lunch again sometime?"

"Maybe," I utter before hanging up, switching my phone off and setting it on the coffee table. The conversation we've had it far too heavy for the time of night, and it's dislodged my composure slightly. I have to sit on the edge of the sofa and take deep breaths to calm myself from the simultaneous feeling of wanting to scream in anguish and smash things in anger.

I want to go to work in the morning, despite Madara's orders. I may very well do so, even if I just hang around the building all day. I'm not going home and I refuse to ask Madara to stay longer than one night. I can sleep in my car and eat at the supermarket. I can tell Madara my shower is broken so I can use his. I don't have to go home and I don't have to permanently stay with my uncle.

I lie back down and close my eyes, firmly telling myself that sleep will come eventually. All attempts at blanking my mind fail so I simply stay where I am, eyes closed and thoughts racing.

I don't even drift. When I finally open my eyes again an hour and a half has passed and we've breached the boundary of a new day. I am all too aware of Madara's warning about me waking him up in the night, but I tread softly out to the hallway regardless and head for the kitchen. When all else fails, revert back to the old fashioned methods of childhood.

I heat some milk up on the stove and hunt around for some hot chocolate. Madara doesn't appear to have any so just hot milk will have to do. I take it through to the sofa and sip at it, trying to clear my mind and let it relax me.

Perhaps it's the thoughts racing in my mind or perhaps it's the unfamiliar location- though I don't know how somewhere I grew up can be unfamiliar- but I just can't sleep. It frustrates me horribly, but there is nothing more I can do but lie down and hope sleep will claim me soon.

-.-.-

Madara finds me asleep on the sofa when he comes downstairs in the morning. He throws a pillow at me to wake me up, which works wonderfully and earns him a sharp glare. I have no idea how much I've slept but it isn't much at all, and I am in a terrible mood already for it.

"Leave me alone," I tell him. "I didn't sleep well."

"Why not?"

"Because my brother is dead, Madara," I tell him bluntly- my patience is apparently non-existent today. "Why else?"

"You could have woken me if you wanted someone to talk to."

I decide it wouldn't be prudent to mention his threat of throwing me out if he was awoken. He leaves me in peace, only to come back with coffee and sets it on the table for me, sitting opposite me with a sharp sigh. I presume I won't be getting any more sleep for now, then.

"You need to move back in for a while," he says and just like that, I snap.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I rage unreasonably at him. "Yes I'm pathetic! I know that! But he's _gone_, Madara, and I have no idea how to handle it! How am I supposed to put myself back together when I can barely accept that he's _not here anymore_?"

Madara stares at me dispassionately, waiting for me to finish before sipping his coffee with one eyebrow raised.

"Fucking hell Itachi," he muses. "Less of the melodrama, please."

"Melodrama?" I repeat. "You think this is _melodrama_?" He shrugs- another way of saying yes. "Madara, he's _dead_! I'm not overreacting or-"

"Itachi," he interjects, his tone firm and parental. "Look, I might not be your father but I'm the closest thing you've got to it, so take it from me when I tell you that you need to let it go."

"Let what go?" I ask against my better judgement.

"The tension! The rage! Everything you're suppressing and trying to ignore because you think you're fine, Itachi- you're not, so _act_ not-fine and then move on with your life!" He exhales and stares at me like he's speaking to a child. "Accept it, file it away and live your _own_ life!"

"I know I'm not fine," I tell him, but it's the first time I've admitted it out loud. It stunts my anger completely, allowing me to tilt my head back against the sofa and stare desperately at the ceiling.

"When my brother died, my world ended," Madara tells me quietly and my head shoots up immediately to look at him. "I went straight off the rails- getting drunk, acting like a fuck up, defaulting on my rent payment in favour of booze, getting arrested for social misdemeanours. Your father bailed me out on the condition I cleaned up my act and got counselling, and it was the best thing I ever did."

I look at him in a new light- I knew he had lost people, but I didn't realise one of those people was a brother.

"His name was Izuna. That's him," Madara tells me, pointing to a photo on the mantelpiece. I always knew the photo was there but never asked who it was. He looks rather like me. "Since your father isn't here to keep you in line, you're stuck with me," he concludes. "I want you to go home today, collect some things and have your ass back here by six when I get home. I understand you better than you think, and I won't watch you self destruct like I did."

I have no idea what to say, rendered speechless by the conversation. I should probably say 'thank you', but I'm still too stunned to do so.

"Oh- I have something of yours too," Madara says as an afterthought, reaching into his coat pocket. He's almost ready to leave, so he's wearing it. He throws me a familiar purple and white box, which I catch deftly. "You'll need these since you aren't coming to work."

It's my pills. I haven't taken one since the day before yesterday and I'm sure I'd have started to feel that soon had he not thought to pick them up. I smile slightly and nod a thank you to him.

"Now go on- go and take a shower or something!" He tells me, shooing me in the direction of the door. "You can fix your own breakfast though- I'm not going to baby you. I'm off to work."

Typical Madara. I have a smile on my face as I make my way to shower, feeling slightly relieved that he's willing to help me. It's the first step on a long and painful road, but it's still a step forward.

There's toast waiting for me on the counter when I get out of the shower and head for the kitchen. I smirk, taking it with me to the living room to have with my cooled coffee. I have a new purpose for the day, and it's the first time in two months, one week and five days that I do so.

-.-.-

I have no idea what possesses me to leave shortly after Madara, because he won't be back until the evening and I have effectively locked myself out. I don't consider going to my place an option- I'll stop by for a quick visit towards the end of the day. This leaves me with a whole day, and not much to do. I have one immediate thought for this, and turn my phone on in response to it to dial a number I'm beginning to memorise.

When Kisame answers his phone sounding half asleep and groggy, I feel immediately mortified. He had a late night too, just like me, and I've awoken him.

"Itachi?" He murmurs.

"I'm sorry," I apologise swiftly. "I didn't think about the time."

"No, no, it's fine," he replies. "What's up?"

I figure that now I've got him on the phone, I may as well be honest about what I wanted. "I have a free day."

I haven't asked for his company- I have simply stated that I'm free. I hope that he'll connect the dots for me, and he does.

"Is that a hint?"

"My uncle told me some things earlier that hit home," I admit softly, avoiding his question. "I'm going to be staying with him for a while."

"Are you willing to let me try to help you?" He asks, and I'm taken aback. The question comes out of the blue- though in reality, perhaps it hasn't. He's probably been waiting for an opportunity to find out if I'm going to respond to him.

"Yes," I say, before I can change my mind. I need help- Madara knows this and has extended his hand, so it's about time I let others do the same. I can't do it alone, which is becoming more obvious over time.

"Are you up for travelling?"

"Where did you have in mind?"

He tells me to meet him at the nearby harbour town. I agree and we say our goodbyes, leaving me to make my way towards the train station. I find myself driving my car less these days- the memories of Sasuke are far too poignant, and the passenger seat noticeably empty.

I regret this decision when I get off the train at the correct stop. I don't know the small village very well so I ask for directions from the ticket office, only to be told the harbour is across the other side of the town. Resolving myself to the frosty atmosphere I set off, distracting myself with interesting shop windows on the way. I have to wonder why Kisame asked me to come here of all places, until it occurs to me he's asked me to a harbour. I muse over this fact, wondering if this is where he lives. I presume he at least works here.

The walk takes almost half an hour and I am extremely glad that Kisame is holding a coffee for me when I finally arrive on the docks. He doesn't look cold as he waits with a cheery smile on his face, a backpack hanging off of one shoulder.

"Do you live in this town?" I ask him, my previous thoughts prominent in my mind.

"Yeah," he replies with a smile. "I thought I'd give you something interesting to do today. Follow me, please."

He heads across the wet wooden planks we're standing on the edge of confidently, leaving me to step much more cautiously behind. One misstep or slip and I'll end up in the sea, which is not high on my list of wants for the day. I am led to a small sailing boat that's tied up on the dock, the word 'Samehada' painted clumsily across the side in blue paint.

"This is mine," he says proudly. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it gets me out onto the ocean. Jump aboard!"

He takes his own words literally and jumps, landing soundly inside the small boat and grinning up at me. We must look a sight together right now- the confident sea-savvy man with the urban kid, clutching hold of his coffee like it's a lifeline and looking out of place on the dock.

"Need a hand?" He offers, extending one tan hand out to me with another of his easy smiles. I hold the coffee up as a convenient excuse, shaking my head. "When you're done, then," he concludes, and sits down on the wooden bench inside the sailboat.

I realise I have no way out of this- I agreed to let this man help me, and it isn't as though I have anything better to do. A few minutes later I'm climbing on board, having mental images of falling straight out as I do so.

He unties the boat when I'm sitting down, clutching the sides of the bench so hard my knuckles are white. He notices, giving me a confident smile.

"Don't worry," he urges. "I wouldn't ask you on board and not take care of you."

The reassurance hits a nerve somewhere, causing me to smile and feel a spark of inward warmth. He smiles back widely before turning his attention to sailing, edging us out onto the ocean slowly.

"Do you want to tell me what your uncle told you?" Kisame asks when we're far enough away from the dock that it's barely visible. I admire his cunning- I literally have nowhere to run from him now.

"He told me to move back with him for a while to get my head straight," I admit, deciding there's no point in prolonging this conversation. "He also told me he had a brother that died, too."

"Then you should listen to him," Kisame advises. "I'm just a stranger who wanted to lend a hand- I don't expect you to listen to me. He's your uncle, though."

"I want to listen to you," I disagree. "Besides- Madara and I don't always see eye to eye. He has the most inept ways of dealing with things sometimes."

"Sometimes people care in strange ways," Kisame muses. I know this is right and not just a trait of Madara's, remembering Deidara's appearance on my doorstep on the day of the funeral. "At least he cares, right? That's the important part."

I'm surprised at how comfortable I've become in Kisame's presence. Talking isn't easy, but just co-existing is surprisingly relaxing. In fact, it would be bordering on fun if I wasn't feeling overwhelmingly nauseous. Kisame notices how pale I have become, frowning slightly.

"You get seasick?" He questions.

"Presumably so," I mutter, closing my eyes and trying to ignore my surroundings. The boat bobs along with the current of the sea, making it impossible. I've never been on a boat before. All my travels have been done by car or train- I've never been on a plane either. Madara would take us on vacation in the summer but he would drive us- the memory causes me to wince, since the hours I was stuck in a car with my uncle and the then-hyperactive child Sasuke were nothing short of excruciating. I should have guessed since I get travel sick- Madara would practically force ginger down my throat before we left in an attempt to stave it off.

Regardless I don't want Kisame to head back to land. He undoubtedly loves the sea and the boat- he asked me here for a reason, and I don't want to spoil that. Instead I tell him I'll be fine and concentrate on trying to ignore it. Sasuke always used to make fun of me. He, as a child, found it remarkably hilarious that I had such trouble with travels when he was fine.

"Here."

Kisame's holding a small bag of what looks like candy out to me, and I realise that it's crystallised ginger. I take one cautiously while he gives me a sheepish smile.

"It catches up on me a little sometimes too," he admits, putting a finger to his lips in a shushing motion with a grin.

The ginger does its job and I feel a little better not long after, though I'm still not quite comfortable with my surroundings and still edging on sick. Kisame is keeping us within view of the land, presumably for this reason.

"I come out here because it's like being with my Papa," he tells me softly, looking out to the vast expanse of blue behind us.

"I go to the cathedral because candles remind me of Sasuke," I admit in return. I'm surprised at the strength of my voice, considering I'm finally giving the name of my sibling to him.

"Then you need some candles in your home," Kisame chuckles, still looking out to the sea. "That can be a way of remembering him once you've sorted out his things, you know. Light a candle for him each night."

I resist the urge to sulkily tell him I have no plans to sort out Sasuke's life, even though I know the day will arrive when I should. I could ask Madara to sweep in and take it all away for me, but I have a feeling I would feel emptier if he did.

"Now you've met my Papa, perhaps you could introduce me to Sasuke?" He asks, and I am taken aback by the absurdity of the statement. I can't introduce him to my brother, because my brother is dead. He likens the sea to his father, but for some reason I can understand that even if I don't understand the parallel to my life that he's used.

"The cathedral?" I say stupidly, unsure what he means.

"I don't want to spend my afternoon in a graveyard, no offence," he laughs lightly. "The cathedral, if that's where you feel closest to him."

Sasuke was cremated and scattered so there's no grave to take him to anyway. If there was I imagine I'd have spent all my time there instead of the cathedral, clearing away dead roses and stifling the urge to dig through the dirt to get just an inch closer to him. The thought is morbid and exacerbates my nausea to such an extent I end up retching off the side of the boat.

"Time to go back to land," Kisame admonishes as I'm coughing hoarsely, clutching the side of the boat as I lean over towards the sea and try not to fall in.

Kisame waits for me to straighten up, shame and nausea burning my cheeks, before reaching into his backpack and handing me a bottle of water. He isn't bothered by my actions, which makes me feel at least a little bit better.

Stepping back onto the dock feels like being caught by a safety net. I walk with as much haste as I can across the slippery boards of the dock back onto dry land, wondering if there's a convenient place I can go and hide. Kisame senses my humiliation and pats a comforting hand to my shoulder, giving me a grin.

"Don't worry about it," he tells me. "Do you know this town at all?"

"Not really," I reply, grateful that he's saved me once again and turned the conversation.

He looks delighted with my answer, beckoning as he begins to walk in the direction I came when I arrived. "There are some nice shops in this town," he informs me. "What kind of things do you like?"

It's a simple question with a not so simple answer. Since Sasuke died I've liked nothing. Everything I once found interesting or fun has lost its significance, so I simply shrug moronically and give no answer. Kisame doesn't comment but it leaves us walking towards the town in silence. I've never been the most social person and it isn't like we're old friends- for all I know, we have nothing in common at all except we've both lost people dear to us.

Kisame takes me to a confectioner's store. This surprises me immensely and I turn to question him as he opens the door for me in an act of chivalry.

"You didn't complain about the chocolate," he says with a shrug. "This is the largest store of its kind in the area. It's a start, right?"

He doesn't realise how right he is. My inner child is delighted at his choice, as is my sweet tooth. I don't question him any further and step inside, taking in the scent of sugar that assaults me when I do.

There are jars and jars of candy on the wall behind the counter, and the shelves are equally stacked. At the back is a small bakery section which is where Kisame heads, selecting freshly made rolls that smell just like seven am in the morning when I was a young child. My mother always made fresh bread- it's a startling flicker of memory that makes me smile.

"Are you fussy about fillings?" He asks and I shake my head, too busy examining the store to care what he decides.

There's so much on offer but I finally make my decision when I pay close attention to the counter. There is an ice cream machine. This is a seaside town, after all, but I haven't had soft ice cream in years. Kisame is more than happy to oblige my desire and includes a chocolate stick in the vanilla treat, grabbing us both a slushie too. I have to wonder if he thinks I'm five years old, but I'm certainly not complaining.

He leads us to the nearby beach, sitting on the wall surrounding it instead of stepping out to the sand. I agree with this decision, settling next to him with my ice cream. It's icy cold and I have to wonder if I've finally lost my mind considering what I have in my hands, but I try to ignore it and enjoy the treat. Kisame turns to me and smiles, which I return.

"Good choice?" He asks. I nod in agreement- I'm too busy eating my ice cream to reply verbally. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure if you'd be offended."

"Offended?"

"Well, this is the kind of thing you do with a little kid," he shrugs, looking momentarily awkward. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty one."

He contemplates that for a moment, finally shrugging his indifference. "I'd have put you as younger, actually. I'm surprised."

I don't feel I look younger than my age. If anything, I look older. I continue to eat the ice cream, staring out towards the sea Kisame loves so much. The salt in the air is almost overpowering from here, but not in an unpleasant way. The tide is beginning to come in, licking the edge of the sand teasingly almost like I am with my ice cream.

When I'm done with it he opens the bag he bought, handing me a cheese roll. It smells divine- I'm surprised by how hungry I suddenly feel.

"Sometimes you just need to relax and do nothing of importance," Kisame tells me. "Are you having fun?"

Fun is a strange word to use, considering I'm numb with cold and wondering why I chose _ice cream_ of all things, and we're only sitting on a wall. However it seems like the best one to use, so I nod at him slowly. He beams in response and hands me a slushie- since it is all ice, I almost drop it in shock at how cold it feels on my already frosty hand. I'm just glad I'm not prone to sugar rushes- that _would_ make me act like a fool.

Sasuke hated sweets. It's been a long time since I shared something like this with someone- in fact, I'm not certain I ever had. Madara used to bring us to the seaside but he'd busy himself on slot machines as soon as possible, handing us money and letting us amuse ourselves. I'd try to get cotton candy and Sasuke would complain about how much he hated the smell of it, so I wouldn't bother. I never did get to try it.

"Did they sell cotton candy?" I ask Kisame quietly.

"I think so."

"Could we get some when we're done?"

"Sure," Kisame shrugs. "If you want."

It's the first thing I've wanted in a while. The thought of wanting anything at all that isn't my brother's return to my side makes me smile, though it's hidden behind my slushie cup.

"Thank you," I say- he shrugs and tells me not to worry because the shop is only a minute away. I don't tell him that I'm not thanking him for that.


	5. Chapter 4

**4.**

By the time we are stepping off the train in my home town, it's approaching two pm. The store did sell cotton candy- pink and fluffy, wound round a tan coloured stick just like I remember from my admirations as a child. It tasted just as good as I imagined.

"We can fetch my car," I tell him as we step back out into the cold. The train was warm and pleasant- the current weather, however, is not. "It'll be faster than walking into town."

As we walk it occurs to me Kisame hasn't once complained about the cold. I don't know if that's because he tolerates it well or is just being polite- in a moment of madness, I brush my hand to his to see if he's just as frozen as I am.

He glances my way in surprise as I lower my hand, frowning slightly. I don't let him question me, speaking to clarify. "You're so warm, Kisame."

He laughs and his confusion dies away, leaving him to grab my hand and rub it between his own quickly. The movement almost makes me halt in my stride- it is _not_ what I had in mind. "I've never really felt the cold," he explains. "You though- you're _freezing_! You should have said!"

"I probably didn't have much right to complain when I willingly chose to eat ice cream," I tell him, a hint of a smile on my face as he releases my hand. It's warmer now, and I push it deeply into my pocket in an attempt to retain it.

I had hoped to avoid stopping in to my place but when we arrive at my car Kisame automatically grins and asks me if I'm going to show him where I live. It occurs to me that I should take the opportunity, since I need to collect some things anyway. At least this way I can do it with someone support.

Opening the apartment door with someone at my side feels strange, but the place is still overwhelmingly empty when I step inside. I lead Kisame through to the living room, going to make us coffee. I watch him from the kitchen doorway as the kettle boils, standing in the centre of the room glancing around it almost critically, when he finally turns to me.

"You don't have any photographs," he says, his tone bordering incredulous. "I'm surprised. I thought you would."

"I hid them," I tell him truthfully, and turn my back on him in a refusal to elaborate and make coffee instead.

My place isn't _untidy_, but it probably could do with a quick once over. I'm home so rarely that only the essentials get done and I apologise to Kisame when I take him his coffee. He shrugs and offers to help, snatching the sweater on the back of the sofa and folding it swiftly. It's Sasuke's sweater- the one I haven't moved since he died. Kisame realises he's done something odd when he notices the look on my face.

"You don't want me to help?" He asks, misinterpreting my expression.

"That's his," I whisper instead, indicating the sweater in his hands. Kisame's eyes widen and he slowly puts it back with a sincere apology, but the damage is already done. He's moved something Sasuke put there, and with it erased a little piece of what was left of my brother. I'm suddenly _angry_ with Kisame, excusing myself from the room to calm down. I can't take it out on him. It isn't his fault I still have issues. It's just a stupid sweater. Madara called me melodramatic- perhaps there is some truth in it, after all.

I collect a few essentials and clothes- enough to last a week, since that's how long I have off of work. I have no intentions of staying for long with my uncle. Kisame is done with his coffee when I finally reappear, calm once more. He's standing by the window glancing out at the view below, which isn't much to behold.

"I'm ready," I hint lightly.

"I washed up the things we used," Kisame tells me as he turns around with one of his usual smiles. I give him one back, thanking him and stepping back out into the hallway. I don't want to see the moved sweater. I don't want to even be here.

Kisame catches up to me without any complaint as I flee the apartment, going out to the communal hallway and not meeting his eye once he's by my side.

"It's a nice place," he says, and for reasons unbeknownst to me it makes me pause. The door is in my hand, half closed, but I can't shut it.

"It is," I agree slowly. "But it's empty."

I move to finish closing the door but Kisame puts one hand on it, slowly shaking his head. "Itachi," he says softly. "I'm sorry about the sweater, but you know it's probably a good thing that I moved it, right?"

This is the first time Kisame's attempted to initiate conversation about something specific regarding Sasuke. It feels almost intrusive, so I knock his hand off the door gently and close it with a sharp bang.

"Let's go," I reply. He doesn't push the issue, and willingly takes the back seat in the car without being prompted. It's almost like he knew Sasuke would have taken the front.

It doesn't take long to get to town and before I know it, we're within sight of the cathedral. I want to stand my ground and tell him I'm not going in, but I lack the courage. He pays his entrance fee and I wave my pass at them, leaving us to walk slowly across the grounds to the entrance.

"I don't want to do this," I finally tell him when we've taken only two steps inside. I back up to the doorway, half in and half out of the door, while he looks at me curiously.

"Why not?" He asks gently.

Because it hurts. Because I'm destined to spend the next hour in tears if I do. Because I don't want you to see me that way again. Because it isn't anything _like_ meeting my brother. Because, because, because.

I don't say any of that, however. I just meet his gaze, begging with him to just step outside and let me win this war. Kisame has other ideas, looking slightly apologetic before he grabs my arm and yanks me back inside.

"Please follow," he asks, and I have no choice since he still hasn't let go of my arm. As long as he avoids the crypt where the candles are, I'll be alright. He isn't going in that direction at least so I finally relax, letting myself be led.

He takes me to the cloisters, slowing his walk down until we're treading lightly through with little haste. Our footsteps echo regardless, as does Kisame's voice when he speaks in low tones.

"I don't know what to say to you, but I want you to know I care. You may not believe me, or you may think I shouldn't, or you might think it's none of my business. Regardless, I felt for you when I first saw you, and that feeling hasn't lessened any now."

I stay silent, feeling slight humbled by his words. Madara raised me to be self sufficient- I'm not used to relying on people in the conventional way, nor am I used to being shown concern in the same manner.

"I'd like you to tell me about Sasuke," he continues. "Just talk about him. Tell me what happened, tell me what you guys did together, tell me anything that you want- it will help you. The best thing anyone ever did for me was sit down and let me talk about my Papa for hours on end, and I want to offer you that same chance."

"But-" I try to say- he cuts me off with a raised hand.

"I'm not saying you have to right now," he clarifies. "But when you want to, I'll listen. I also want you to know that when you tell me, it's alright to get angry, or cry, or scream or whatever you want. I'm not going to judge or criticise you. The offer is there, Itachi, and will be there for as long as you need it."

"Why?" I finally ask. He laughs at this, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I thought I told you why," he sighs. "Don't make me repeat myself!"

The warning is good natured but still holds some weight, so I refrain from pressing him further on the matter. He's here, and he seems to care. It appears that I am going to have to learn to start accepting that.

"Can we just go to the crypt and get this over with?" I ask, resigning myself to my fate. Kisame smiles lightly and nods, so we change direction and walk with more haste.

The crypt is deathly quiet, which is apt, with only a few people inside. There is no-one at the candle display and I head straight for it, with Kisame only a step behind me. I'm determined now- if I'm going to do this, I'm going to just do it and get the hell out of here without delay.

As I pick up one of the candles my resolves shatters into pieces, leaving me holding it out with one shaking hand and unsure of what to do with it. I've done this so many times and it isn't exactly a difficult task, but I'm completely frozen. Kisame senses this and vacates his spot next to me, walking away from me in an action that gives me some relief.

I light the candle with a soft murmur of prayer, setting it down and staring at the blazing flame in a daze. I've never thought of the candle as a personification of Sasuke, but thanks to Kisame's words about meeting my brother here, it morphs itself in that manner for a moment.

"Sasuke," I whisper. "It's me."

It feels ridiculous. I'm talking to the musky air of a cathedral crypt, but yet there's something so inherently comforting about it that I have to continue.

"I have to move forward," I tell him. "I can't keep doing this, Sasuke. Madara's right- if I keep on feeling the way I am I'm liable to jump in front of a train or something, even if I don't want to. I imagine you'd be pretty annoyed with me if I did that, right?"

The cathedral doesn't answer me, but I know what my brother would have said in response.

"Of course you would," I murmur, a twisted smile on my face as I feel my throat constrict tightly. I can't speak any more, lowering my head down to the cold stone floor and covering it with my arms as despair washes over me. I can't do this. I can't. It's a mantra in my mind as I struggle to maintain my composure, only jerking my head back up when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Kisame has come back to my side. He says nothing. I don't want this fractured life I'm left with but that is all I have, so I stay silent too. He keeps his hand on my shoulder and as desperately as I want to brush it off, the intrinsic need for comfort stops me from doing so.

"We're going," I tell him, my voice strangled as I pull myself to my feet. I've done my job- the candle is lit. I gesture to it wildly. "You've _met_ him now. We have no need to stay."

I don't wait to see if he has something to say as I stride towards the exit, pausing momentarily at the prayer book. Kisame joins my side and points to the book- something is written in a foreign language. The handwriting is curled and striking, flowing neatly across the page. I'm captivated by it for a brief second before my emotions take over again.

"No hay mal que por bien no venga," Kisame reads out loud. "I wrote this. It means 'there is no bad from which good does not come'."

"What good can come from the death of a sixteen year old?" I hiss at him. Every time I come here the pain is raw, and I'm finding it difficult to keep my anger in check. "And must you be so pretentious? You could have written that in English."

"It's something my Papa used to say," Kisame continues, finally letting his hand fall from the paper. I feel instantly guilty, some of my anger dying away with it. "He was from Spain. Writing it in English would have defeated the purpose."

I know this now but I can't bring myself to utter an apology. "Can you speak Spanish?" I ask dismally as we walk from the crypt, still struggling not to cry. My voice reflects this, but he says nothing of it.

"Si," he says with a light laugh- I know enough of the basics to understand that it means 'yes'. I nod lamely in acknowledgement, bringing a shaking hand to my eyes to swipe the tears away.

My attempts are futile- by the time we are back in the main area of the cathedral I can barely see past the blur in my eyes and my breaths are choppy and sharp. Kisame finally turns to me, having ignored my lack of self-control until now, and looks momentarily pained.

"Don't do this to yourself," he suggests. The simple words splinter my remaining composure, leaving me to bury my face in my hands. This entire journey- it seems even more painful than before, and I can't work out why.

Kisame has the answer to that thought, wrapping his arms around me tightly in a show of affection I'm not expecting in the slightest. There are people around us- I'm far too upset to care that they can see me this way, and he apparently doesn't care that they can see him comfort me.

"Suppressing it makes it harder," he tells me, his lips close to my ear. "Get it out of your system and you can move forward."

He lowers me down to the floor and I cling to him like he is the air I need to breathe, burying my face in his chest in an effort to mute my sobs. It doesn't work, and all I'm doing is ruining his blue shirt. I have never felt so pathetic before- I was more composed than this at the _funeral_, which is saying something.

Even when I am finally quiet I stay exactly where I am, wrapped up in his arms. He doesn't move either, allowing me to take comfort from the silent embrace. We may not have met under the best of circumstances but I'm now so glad that we did. For this moment alone I am thankful for his insistence on helping me.

"Thank you," I whisper to him. My head is on his shoulder, inches from his ear, so I know he can hear me,

"Do you feel better?" He whispers back.

"I do," I nod in agreement.

"Are you ready to start moving forward?"

"Yes," I say definitely, sure of myself now.

"Moving on is not just about being happy," he warns me. "It's also accepting when you need to be sad or angry or frustrated, too."

He lets me break the embrace rather than the other way around, leaving us sitting on our knees opposite each other on the icy stone floor. There's a member of the clergy hovering nearby but I send a glance in his direction and he smiles, turning and leaving us in privacy. There are other members of the public but none of them are paying us much attention. I imagine displays of grief are expected and common here.

I feel the need to break the silence, so I'm not really thinking when I speak. "Your handwriting is beautiful," I tell him. I was in too much of a state to have mentioned it before, but I feel I have to now, if only to fill the quiet. He seems taken aback before giving me a bright smile.

"Thanks," he shrugs. "I try?"

The ice is broken and I pull myself to my feet. Kisame joins me, smoothing his shirt down and adjusting his coat to tactfully cover the tears staining it darker.

"I think you need to go and freshen up, and then we need to have some fun," he admonishes. "We've got the introductions to the family out of the way, after all."

It's a light joke that I normally might have balked at, but this time I laugh along with him. "Not quite. You haven't met my uncle." I pause before grimacing slightly. "And you probably don't want to."

"Is he that bad?"

"Yes and no. He's..." I struggle for the best word to describe my uncle Madara. "Different," I finally settle on.

"Is different so bad?" Kisame points out. "You and I are different."

"It reference to Madara- yes, different is bad," I reassert. "You're welcome to reserve judgment of him until you've met him, however."

We take a small detour via the cathedral bathroom so I can make myself look reasonably presentable. You have to pay to enter- Kisame found my original refusal to do so entertaining, cutting me off in the middle of my righteous talk about how I won't pay for the privilege by doing so for me and pushing me through the door. My cheeks itch with salt and my eyes are sore so this is a welcome respite, despite my complaint.

On our way through the cathedral gift shop Kisame attempts buy me another chocolate bar. I hold a hand up to stop him, giving him a small smirk.

"I've had enough sugar today, don't you think?"

He simply grins and buys it anyway. "Have it later," he suggests, so I slide it into my pocket with the crumpled wrapper of the last one with a nod of thanks.

"Any suggestions for something fun to do?" He says when we're standing in the middle of the high street, looking rather lost as busy people brush past us.

"My uncle told me to be back at his by six," I explain.

"We've got plenty of time then," Kisame tells me with a dismissive wave. "Shall we watch a movie?"

The last time I watched a movie was with Sasuke, but I don't feel the need to keep the memory sacred. I don't know if this is because it doesn't rate as importantly as other things, or because my outlook is better from the day's events.

"Sure," I shrug. It's as good a suggestion as any.

I learn a few things about Kisame when we're seated in the movie theatre. The first is that he apparently has no concept of money, not battering an eyelid at the cost of confectionary and drinks and happily paying for the tickets despite my protests. He also prefers salty popcorn to sweet, and drinks lemonade over any other option of soda. None of these things have much importance in the grand scheme of things, yet I'm still happy to learn them.

He's the opposite of me, though. It worries me as I cradle my sweet popcorn a little subconsciously. Kisame was quite prepared to buy the biggest popcorn on the menu for me but I managed to convince him it wasn't necessary. I think threatening to throw most of it at him swayed him into purchasing the small one. He still bought the largest drink when I wasn't looking though- I have a plan to tip most of it into an unsuspecting plant at some point. Hopefully it won't die from the acidity or caffeine.

I find my plan to unwittingly poison a plant falls to the wayside, as I am captivated by the movie instead. It was Kisame's choice- a comedy, and it certainly doesn't fail at making us laugh. At one point it occurs to me this is the most I've laughed since Sasuke's death, which was probably his intention.

"We should do this again some time," he suggests once the lights brighten and we're left with smiles on our faces.

"I'd love to," I agree wholeheartedly. He beams at me as we walk to the exit with the rest of the people, leaning close to whisper to me.

"You'd better pay next time though," he advises. "If I pay again it'll be rather like a date."

The thought leaves me feeling rather strange. I brush it aside and check my watch instead, curious about the time.

"It's almost six," I say out loud, eyes widening in realisation. "Madara's going to wonder where I got to."

I don't want this to end- Kisame has managed to succeed in distracting me and making me feel just a little better about life today. If he's disappointed he doesn't show it, giving me a wave when we're at the outer exit.

"I'll make my way then," he says. "It was nice, Itachi. Let me know if you fancy doing it again. I'm free all this month."

"I'll give you a lift to the train station at least," I offer. He shakes his head with a smile and a shrug, indicating over his shoulder.

"It's not far from here, and it's only an extra couple of stops more. Don't worry about it. Take care of yourself, hear me?"

He's gone, lost in the crowds before I can argue any further. I set off to my car, shivering and thrusting my hands deeply into my pockets. My cold fingers connect with the chocolate bar and I have to smile a little- there's no way I'm eating it today. Most of what I've eaten consists of sugar as it is.

I manage the drive to Madara's reasonably easily considering I've caught the tail end of rush hour traffic, pulling up at half past six. Madara is standing on the doorstep with a cigarette in hand, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at me as I approach him with a suitcase in my hand.

"You're late," he observes. "I wasn't expecting you to come."

"I got caught up," I tell him as I push him lightly out of the way, eager to get into the warmth of the house. I've spent most of the day out in the cold at various points, and I'm rather looking forward to staying in now.

"Up to anything interesting?" Madara queries as he follows me inside.

"I went to the movies with a friend."

Madara blinks a couple of times in surprise, closing the door behind him. "Deidara was at work all day."

"Another friend," I say, feeling a little annoyed he thinks I am _that_ anti-social.

Well- I am. But I don't like it being pointed out.

"It's just some guy I met recently," I elaborate. "I told him I had a day to waste and he decided to join me."

I end the conversation by trekking up the stairs with my suitcase, though I'm not entirely sure why I am since I presume I'll be sleeping on the sofa. Madara surprises me by following and steering me towards his bedroom, where there's a makeshift travel bed propped up complete with covers.

"The sofa won't be comfortable long term," he says by way of explanation. "You'd better stay in bed once you're there though- if you wake me, you're sleeping on the sofa."

I don't take much stock in the threat this time, since he contradicted his last one. I nod anyway and set my case down, sitting down on the travel bed to test it. It's surprisingly comfortable, so I lie back on it with a contented sigh.

"Thank you for letting me stay," I say quietly when I sense Madara is still in the doorway. He snorts in mild disgust that I've even mentioned it before leaving the room.

"You're family," I hear as he walks down the hall. It's all the explanation he needs to give, and it tells me nothing I didn't already know.

-.-.-

Waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare is not quite how I planned things. Apparently I was more tired than I thought, having fallen asleep on the bed when I came in, and Madara didn't see fit to wake me. The realistic dream I was having about witnessing Sasuke's accident does the job nicely, leaving me wrenching myself from the bed and racing down the hall as I realise the image is going to make me throw up.

Madara appears behind me in the bathroom doorway when I'm coughing and retching, the images all too distinct in my mind. Every time I close my eyes I see blood and Sasuke's mangled corpse, eyes wide and fearful.

"Itachi," he sighs, stalking across the room and taking a fistful of my loose hair in his hand to hold it for me. "When I said don't wake me up, I _meant_ it."

"I'm sorry," I choke out.

"When did you start having nightmares?"

I cough again and fall back onto my knees, shaking slightly and feeling my bangs stick to my forehead with sweat. "I don't very often," I whisper, my throat slightly hoarse. "But they're vivid when I do."

"It's normal," he concludes, sitting on the edge of the bath with a sharp sigh. "Clean your teeth, get some water and do something for half an hour before trying to go back to sleep."

I expect him to leave with these words of wisdom and go back to bed, but he stays. He's studying me- I can sense it, even though I'm looking down at my hands on the floor.

"Deidara asked after you today," he says quietly.

"What did you tell him?" I utter mostly to my hands, but he hears me.

"That you've finally taken your compassionate leave and will be staying with me. What else?"

Of course, it wouldn't occur to Madara to lie for me and save my dignity. "Oh. Alright then," I say dumbly. It's too late to change what he's already said. It doesn't matter too much anyway- Deidara won't bring it up, because that would mean acknowledging I have a problem.

Madara finally heads back to bed, leaving me to do as he suggested. Ten minutes later I'm curled up in front of the television with a glass of water, lightly sipping it and staring blankly at whatever is on. It's just different images- images that aren't Sasuke being killed.

When I first got the phone call I'd been in the middle of making dinner. Sasuke had been due home a couple of hours before- I wasn't worried, since he was often late. He was a teenager, after all, and they are renowned for their bad timekeeping. When I answered the call I expected it to be him, telling me he would be back shortly, but it was the hospital.

Sasuke had been carrying ID in his wallet and Madara, as his technical legal guardian, had been called. I genuinely don't remember much else after hearing that- my memory kicks in later when Madara showed up on my doorstep, yelling through the letterbox at me to open the door before he broke it down. I let him in, but only because I didn't want a repair bill on top of everything. He took one look at me, hanging off the door and barely able to stand, before sweeping me back inside and forcing me to the sofa.

"Itachi," he said as he practically pulled me bodily into my living room. "Come on, you can walk."

I couldn't at that moment. It felt like all my strength had deserted me- the energy I summoned to open the door was all I could spare.

"Itachi!" He snapped again. "Get with it!"

"It's not true is it?" I had finally asked when Madara pushed me towards my sofa. I collapsed onto it haphazardly, looking up at him ashen faced and wide eyed. "Madara- it's not true? It's not true!"

"I just IDed his corpse at the hospital," Madara told me, blunt as usual and devoid of tact. "It's true. You're not going to see him before you ask."

I wasn't going to ask. I'd already buried my face into my hands at the confirmation, sobbing harshly- hysterically, almost. "Are you sure?" I whispered frantically.

"Of course I'm sure!" Madara snapped back at me bitterly. "He's my nephew!"

It was denial talking. Of course Madara knew what he was talking about but I just couldn't bring myself to believe it. Instead I curled up on my sofa and wept. He threw a blanket over me and watched my television.

He left at some point when I fell asleep from exhaustion, waking up in the early hours of the morning almost completely numb. It was autopilot that got me dressed and to the train station for work, meeting Madara onboard as normal. He'd been blunt about my appearance for work.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He had asked sharply.

"I am going to work," I had replied a touch haughtily. "What else?"

I now realise that was shock more than anything. I'm surprised he didn't forcefully push me off at the next stop but then again, this is Madara- master of unconventional care.

Even as children we were subjected to his unusual brand of compassion. I remember Sasuke falling when he was about four, cutting his knee open and crying. Any other parental figure would have put a band aid on it and pretended to kiss it better, but not Madara. He simply sighed, threw the box of band aids to him and told him to clean himself up. It was me that swooped in to handle the situation, of course. Madara has no clue how to handle small children. I was old enough to at least be partially self sufficient when we entered his care, but not Sasuke. It's probably nothing short of a miracle that he lived past his childhood days.

I can't fault Madara though. Just like myself right now, he didn't ask for this life. He become a stand in parent overnight, when he had no idea what he was doing and was in the prime of his career. It's no surprise I ended up mostly raising Sasuke, as well as myself in the meantime. We had a roof over our heads, we never went hungry and if we needed protecting he was there. I always felt that was enough.

I'm far too awake to go back to sleep now so I resign myself to an early night later, making coffee and breakfast instead. My thoughts float back to Kisame as I peruse Madara's cereal choices, wondering if it would be considered clingy to call him again today. He said he had the month off and I have the day free again, too. I know I have nothing better to do, but perhaps he does.

Madara apparently didn't go back to sleep either because he joins me ten minutes later, taking advantage of the hot kettle to make himself coffee. I'm feeling subdued following my thought process about how messed up our lives became, and I can't help but bring it up with him.

"Did you ever want children of your own?"

He looks at me with a hint of surprise for the question, but indulges me. "No."

"Is that because you ended up with us, or because you didn't want them?"

"I didn't want them," he clarifies with bluntness that may have offended any other person. "Luckily you two were good kids, most of the time. You more than your brother though."

"I think I got the worst of his behaviour when I moved out," I say with a grimace. "The young teenage years were pretty hellish."

"Don't you remember when he was nine and decided he was going to run away and become independent?" Madara says with a heavy sigh. "And we spent the entire evening searching for him, only to find he was in the garden shed?"

"That was probably my fault," I admit. "I'd been telling him how one day we'd move out one day and it would be just us. He had me so worried."

The look on Madara's face tells me he was concerned too, though he doesn't voice it. The brief trip down memory lane makes me feel wretched, but I also want to smile a little at it. It's moments like now, where Sasuke is alive in memories, that make me feel that things might just be alright one day.

"I miss him," I say before my mind processes that I'd wanted to say it.

"I know," Madara replies without missing a beat. "I do too."

I wasn't expecting that last admission but I'm glad to have been given it. It makes me feel that I'm not alone, even though I knew that.

"He was only sixteen," I try again, hoping that the more I speak, the more the situation will make sense to me.

"It's tragic," Madara agrees. "Unfortunately, life isn't fair- you and I both know that. If it was you'd be at University, I'd be running Akatsuki and Sasuke would still be here."

He's never alluded that's what he wanted before, but it's no surprise. Madara's always put his career above everything- or so I thought. He disproves this moments later.

"I turned down a promotion you know," he admits as he pulls himself to his feet, heading for the door. "After you two landed yourselves on my doorstep."

"A promotion?"

"Nagato's job," Madara says, pausing to glance over his shoulder. Nagato's job and Madara's desire are the same thing, only he's worded them differently. "I couldn't take the extra responsibility with two kids in tow."

"Are you bitter about that?" I ask before he can leave the room.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, Itachi," he says, flashing me a tiny but genuine smile before he exits. I'm left feeling even more subdued than I did before, busying myself with washing up the breakfast things and trying to put the conversation out of my mind. Even though Madara hasn't laid any blame on me, I still feel guilty.

Uchihas aren't known for their open displays of affection but I am overtaken by the need to thank him for everything he's done for us. When he appears in the kitchen doorway behind me, dressed in his work clothes, I feel immensely awkward as I approach him. I hesitate when I'm a few steps in front of him, earning myself a mild scowl.

"Out with it," he snaps lightly.

"Thank you," I say, tapping his shoulder lightly and stepping past him. He exhales heavily and I turn when he grabs my arm, seeing him roll his eyes and squeeze gently enough so that it doesn't hurt, but hard enough that it impacts me.

"Stop being sentimental," he orders before letting go and shooing me out of his way. "If you're going to be here all day you can do some cleaning or something," he tells me as he unhooks his coat from the hook near the front door. "Make yourself useful. I'm going to put in some overtime."

He's out the door before I can speak, but I take him up on his offer. As much as I want to call Kisame and spend the day doing everything and nothing, I don't wish to bother him. Instead I search under the kitchen sink for cleaning supplies and switch the radio on, throwing myself into tidying Madara's house. I don't care how the distractions come, as long as they do so.


	6. Chapter 5

**5.**

Madara's week of compassionate leave turns itself into a month. At first I am not pleased with this, but he insists when he catches me at a bad moment a day before I was due back at work, sobbing at mutedly as I could manage into my pillow in the middle of the night. As much as I want to save grief for the cathedral I awoke with damp cheeks, the leftover of a dream I couldn't quite remember on the edge of my memory.

Living with Madara is easier than I imagined. We've slipped into a routine now- he heads to work and I keep the place in order. It's a twisted version of husband and wife, only I am not a housewife and I would rather claw my own eyes out than marry my uncle. I thankfully have my own key now so I'm not trapped to his times anymore.

I have been restrained regarding Kisame. I've been texting him a lot, sometimes talking on the phone, but I've refused any further meet-ups. I never give a reason and he never asks, so we waste the occasional afternoon talking like old friends and getting to know each other better.

I learn that Kisame dislikes seafood and his favourite colour is blue. He learns I have quite a taste for fish and my favourite colour is purple. They are tiny things, but all friendships are founded on tiny snippets of life that intertwine together. Before you know it, you smile when the phone rings and it's them, and you're texting them in the middle of the night when you can't sleep. For the shaky foundation it was based on, this friendship is shaping up to be quite strong.

It's two in the afternoon when I'm hit with the sudden realisation, whilst in the middle of a cigarette on Madara's porch. I want to tell Kisame about Sasuke. I text him to tell him this, and receive a response a few minutes later. 'Where does your uncle live? I'll come to you'.

Just shy of an hour later Kisame arrives on the doorstep, smiling just as much as I remember. Even though we've come to be quite good friends, seeing him in the flesh is slightly different and makes me feel a little awkward. He doesn't share this, grinning at me as I step aside and let him inside.

"You look healthy," he says with a smile.

I nod at him- it's a correct assumption. Under Madara's care I've been eating breakfast and dinner, though sometimes I still skip lunch. I swear my uncle is drugging my drinks, since I'm starting to sleep better. Life is no-where near _good_, but I'm coping better. Some time to myself, people to talk to and less deliberate avoidance of my own feelings has helped immensely.

I wonder if this meeting is going to be my undoing. I'm willingly going to drag up talk of my brother- Madara and I have shared snippets over the last few weeks, and it's made me feel good to remember him that way. This is different though. I'm going to let Kisame ask me anything he wants and if he touches on painful subjects, it's in my overall best interest to answer.

"Come," I tell him, making us coffee and leading him through to the living room. I slip the patio door open and sit with my back to the frame. Kisame sits on the floor next to me, not questioning my strange location until I light a cigarette. Madara doesn't smoke in the house and by proxy, it's a rule I gave myself even if he never asked it of me.

"That's a bad habit," Kisame says with a chuckle.

It occurs to me this is the first negative thing he's ever said to me. "I know," I say with a smirk. I've picked it up again this week, and I'll drop it again by next.

We sit in silence while I attempt to gather the courage to launch into this conversation. I know what I want to say but I have no idea how to begin.

"He died in a car accident," I say finally. He spares me the usually obligatory 'I'm sorry'. "I don't know what else to say, but I know I want to tell you about him."

"Then tell me," Kisame urges. "Tell me about his life instead."

And so, I do. I tell him how Sasuke was fiercely independent and hated being told what to do, even if it was good for him to listen. I tell him how his hair used to stick up at the back no matter what he did with it. I tell him how we used to go driving in my car. I tell him about the vacations we used to take and how I moved out at sixteen and took him with me. I touch on the lack of money and basics that left us in candlelight, just like the candles of the cathedral. All through my words Kisame listens, sipping his coffee and simply letting me talk.

Good memories eventually turn to bad, and I'm recalling the day I got the phone call. I tell him how I went to work regardless. I tell him about the anti-depressants. Eventually I'm telling him about my hatred for going home and my gratefulness to Madara for taking me in, and how glad I am to have met him.

This is where Kisame finally interjects. "I'm glad I met you too," he returns the sentiment. "Your brother sounds like a real nice kid. He sounds a little like my nephew, Suigetsu. He's about the same age, too."

"I wish he was here," I whisper, overtaken by a sudden surge of desire for my brother to be here, to be _alive_. He could have met Kisame's nephew and maybe become friends with him. He could have gone to university, got married, lived a full life- now he isn't going to. I choke abruptly, feeling moronic as I bury my face in my hands. I knew this was going to happen. I should have scheduled this talk at the cathedral.

"I've got to stop doing this," I utter to Kisame, attempting to dry my cheeks with the back of my hand. And it's true- mark of grieving or not, it's just not me. I've never been the quintessence of a weeping bride and I despise that I am becoming so.

"It won't always be this way," he points out softly. "Right now you're fragile and this was a heavy talk- give yourself a break, Itachi."

I ignore him, lighting a cigarette instead and composing myself somewhat. I just want to move on from the conversation and have some fun now- the tears can come later if they must.

"There isn't much to do here," I explain. Madara works hard and doesn't spend much time in his house- it's equipped with the general technological basics, but that's about it. "We could put a movie on or something?"

"Sounds fine to me," Kisame shrugs. "Will your uncle mind me being here?"

"It's my home too right now," I say stubbornly. "I don't care if he does."

"So this is the place you grew up in?" Kisame asks conversationally when we're inside, looking over Madara's DVD collection, the conversation about Sasuke behind us; keeping him in my memories once again until the next time I feel able to speak of him.

"That's right."

"It's nice. I like this area."

"Madara wouldn't settle for anything less than nice. What he wants, he gets," I say ruefully as Kisame plucks a DVD off the shelf and hands it to me. "Jaws?" I ask, one eyebrow raised.

He gives me a sheepish grin. "I love this movie."

And so, this is how Madara found us when he arrived home- abusing his Jaws box set collection, on the sofa together sharing takeout that Kisame offered to buy.

"Why do you own Jaws?" I ask him as he stands in the doorway behind us, clearly confused.

"Why not?" He says eventually.

"This is Kisame," I say by way of introduction. Kisame gives him a pleasant smile and a wave- Madara returns the wave, at least.

"You didn't say you were having a boyfriend over," he says before heading to the kitchen. Kisame laughs heartily at what he presumes is a quip, but I feel myself blushing a little at it. It occurs to me that we're sitting pretty close together, sharing a blanket so it must have looked even worse to Madara. I tell myself I don't care for his opinion and stay where I am.

It ruffles me a little, though. While I can't say I've done much actual _dating_, I'm not socially backwards enough that I haven't been on nights out and had some casual hook ups- being friends with Deidara practically demands it of a person. When you've had a few drinks and your friend is eyeing up the girls on offer, it doesn't take long to notice that your own eyes stray to both the girls _and_ the guys. I took this revelation on board by, as Deidara so delightfully put it, 'sucking face' with a rather striking man less than an hour later.

Madara knows this, of course. Even though he isn't my parent he knows everything just like one does. Then again, Deidara made sure it was the first thing he told my uncle at work after that weekend, because he's a _wonderful_ friend like that. It did mean I didn't have to keep my male partners secret though. For this reason it's entirely possible he wasn't joking with his earlier comment.

I look at Kisame out of the corner of my eye, studying him in a different light for a moment. His eyes are bright blue and he smiles a lot, which is always a plus. His hair is naturally black like mine but he's dyed it a dark blue colour, and his skin is quite dark tan almost akin to coffee- all in all, he's attractive, and I tear my eyes away and tell myself to stop gawking like a teenager. He isn't some guy I've picked up in a bar. It's different.

"Kisame?" I say quietly, earning his attention. "When things are better, will you still be here?"

"Of course!" He says, looking a little miffed at the question before he turns back to his beloved Jaws. I had to ask- for all I know he wanted to help me through then vanish, since his job would be done.

"Thank you," I say softly before I get up and head to the kitchen, needing to set the record straight with Madara.

"He's not a boyfriend," I tell him. "He's the friend I told you about."

"How am I supposed to know with you?" Madara muses with a long sigh. He doesn't even turn to face me, too busy making himself coffee. "You take anything that offers."

I sigh at him- this is a tired disagreement. "Stop taking cheap shots at my sexual orientation," I chide. "I'm hardly in any state for a relationship anyway."

"I don't know so much," Madara shrugs. "You'd be amazed at what can develop from a friendship in times like now."

"We got you some takeout," I tell him, sidestepping the conversation before it can fall any further to the gutter and pointing to the fridge. Kisame had wanted to make sure my uncle was included- he was gate-crashing his home, he had said. The least he could do was buy the man dinner.

"Tell your boyfriend thank you."

I scowl at his back and depart the room, sitting on the sofa with Kisame a little sulkily. Madara comes in a minute or so later and sits opposite, a plate of rice and chicken in his hand and a smirk on his lips.

"So," he says to Kisame. "I hear my nephew is quite the catch."

I was in the middle of taking a sip of soda and almost choke on it, eyes widening at Madara's words.

"Is that so?" Kisame plays along- he _plays along_! I don't know who to glare at more.

"Apparently so," my darling uncle continues. "One of his last conquests told me all about it when I picked them up from a date once."

"Madara," I hiss, the single word promising him great pain should he continue.

"I didn't want to hear such details of course," Madara sighs dramatically. "I don't _need_ to hear how good in bed he is or-"

"Madara!" I snap sharply, but Kisame's busy laughing and waves a hand dismissively at me.

"I like your uncle, Itachi," he chuckles. "I like his sense of humour."

"That isn't _humour_," I correct through gritted teeth. "He's trying to humiliate me."

Kisame seems to think he's joking. I allow him to do so, scowling once more at my uncle as he turns his attention to his food. I hope he chokes on it.

"I'd best get going anyway," Kisame says, pulling himself to his feet. He doesn't wish to overstay his welcome it seems- I don't try to convince him otherwise, happy to get him out of Madara's way.

"I'll drive you home," I offer.

"You don't need to do that."

"I'd like to," I insist. I want to go to the cathedral after and I know I won't get out of the house without Madara hounding me to find out where I'm going. I'm a terrible liar when it comes to my uncle. Plus I owe Kisame a lot- the least I can do is drive him home. He relents and lets me so I grab my coat and keys and shout a goodbye to Madara.

There's light rain in the air. I dislike driving in such conditions- I was always a cautious driver but since Sasuke's death on the roads, I'm even more so now. I don't complain about it however since it isn't Kisame's fault it's raining, and I've already coerced him into taking the lift.

"It seems like your uncle has the wrong impression," Kisame chuckles when we're on route, causing me to inwardly want to cry that he's brought this conversation up. "We'd best not tell him I'm on the wrong side of the fence, so to speak."

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He looks a little nervous- he's used the base of Madara's conversation to bring up his sexuality in an easy manner. I laugh lightly in an effort to make him feel more appeased, figuring if we're confessing I may as well do so too.

"There's no such thing as a right or wrong side," I point out. "As far as I'm concerned there isn't even a fence."

He stares at me for a minute as he processes what I've said, eyes finally lighting up in realisation before he laughs again. I like his laugh. It always makes me want to smile.

"So _that's_ why he said it," he muses.

Our silence is less awkward now. All we can hear is the sound of the windscreen wipers on my car and the pattering of rainfall, but it's comforting for some reason.

Thanks to the inundation of traffic on the roads, as there always is when it rains, it takes forty five minutes to drive to Kisame's harbour town. He begins to direct me when we arrive at it, since I don't know where he actually lives.

"Thank you for the lift," Kisame says politely when we're sitting outside of his place. It's an actual house- I don't know why I'm surprised by this, but I am. "Do you want a coffee or something before you go?"

He has no idea how much I would like that, and I come to the realisation as we're walking up his path that it has nothing to do with the coffee. I haven't yet worked out _why_, other that I am grateful I met Kisame that day in the cathedral. Him and Madara- it worries me where I'd have been in a few months time without them, spiralling down despite all my attempts at not doing so.

Kisame's house is filled with motifs and images of the sea and boats. The walls are varying shades of across the spectrum of blue and so are the carpets; cornflower, powder, royal, teal, sky, yale- the whole house feels like I'm walking around on a boat. The kitchen has a large framed picture of Samehada, and the bathroom has ropes tied in different knots hanging across the ceiling like Christmas decorations. It's odd, but in a likeable way.

Kisame's bedroom is the one I like the most as he shows me around his place. The carpet is royal blue and the walls are steel, with a framed photograph above the bed of who I instantly recognise as Kisame with two people I instantly think must be his parents. He's never mentioned his mother but he follows my gaze and indicates to the photograph.

"My parents," he confirms. "My mother died when I was only a baby. I don't remember her at all."

My first thought is that his mother was a pretty lady- she has dark eyes, which surprises me considering how blue Kisame's are, with equally dark hair and light sepia skin. Kisame takes characteristics from his father, with lighter eyes and skin. My high school education of genetics has me opening my mouth in confusion. My hair is inky black despite my father's being brown and so was Sasuke's, which works in conjunction with the theories of dark being dominant over light that I have been taught.

"You look so much like your father," I say softly.

"I know- it's a surprise isn't it?" Kisame points out. "I didn't really take after my mother at all. Apparently genetics aren't as straight forward as they teach in schools."

He laughs and indicates for me to follow again without realising he may as well have read my mind, heading back down the stairs to the kitchen. I follow, feeling a little subdued as I do so. Kisame was able to show me a photograph of his parents without it fazing him at all- I, by contrast, have hidden every photo of Sasuke in my house because looking at them is so painful. It's a stark reminder of how far I have yet to walk.

We share coffee and talk about nothing in particular and all too soon I am on my way to the front door to leave- I had wanted to stay longer, if he'd have had me, but I'm already going to be pushed for time to get to the cathedral before it closes. Kisame waves at me and calls as I'm walking down the path.

"When do you want to meet up again?"

I halt on the spot, turning as a thought comes to mind. Kisame told me he only had a month off of work and we're slowly edging on what must be the end of his free time.

"Are you around tomorrow?" I ask slowly. "There's something I'd like to do with you."

"Sure," he shrugs. "What is it?"

"I'd like to sort out Sasuke's things," I practically whisper. He hears me however, the smile on his face fading a little as he gives me a determined look.

"Of course," he agrees firmly. "Just let me know when you want me and I'll come."

Once I'm back in the car I sit and stare at the wheel in front of me for a moment, finally starting the car and sighing heavily. I'm not going to the cathedral. Instead, I'm going to pick up some candles on the way home and bring Sasuke to me instead.

Of course, this fact is made difficult by my indecisive nature regarding candles. I spend forty five minutes attempting to choose which ones I want to buy from an admittedly small selection when my cell phone rings- it's Madara, which is no surprise.

"I'm just picking some things up at the supermarket," I tell him truthfully. "Did you want anything?"

Madara adds a couple of items to my mental inventory, seemingly satisfied with what I'm doing when I explain the place is _very_ busy. I may not be able to lie to the man's face but I certainly can over the phone- Sasuke is the only one who took what I said at face value, and I presume that's because he trusted me unconditionally as his sibling to tell the truth. I still don't regret not doing so, considering our circumstances.

Eventually I select sixteen candles in an ivory colour, each with their own glass holder. Simple and plain, which feels appropriate for the situation. I quickly get the things Madara asked for and make my way home, stowing my bag of candles underneath the stairs when I get inside and head to the living room to face my uncle.

"I stopped at Kisame's for coffee," I explain in addition to my supermarket trip, since I realise I've been absent for approaching three hours or so now. Madara doesn't seem worried, waving me away as he glances over paperwork spread across the table in front of him. I put the things he asked me to get away and seat myself opposite him, flicking a piece of paper in my direction to glance at it- work, of course. He sometimes brings work home for him, and I wonder with a small pang of guilt if he's struggling without me.

The thought is fleeting- he managed before he gave me half of his job, so I'm sure he's managing now. Regardless he doesn't complain when I engage him in conversation about it and give him a hand.

It's close to midnight when Madara finally sighs and declares he's going to bed. I tell him I'll finish up for him, since it's not like I have to be up early but he snatches the paperwork from me and tells me to get some rest as well. Together we head up the stairs and eventually climb into our beds- Madara sleeps quickly, where I keep myself awake and stare at the ceiling.

When I'm certain he seems asleep enough that he won't stir I climb back out of the bed, tiptoeing from the room out onto the landing. I thank that I grew up in this house and can navigate it without the use of light, since I have no intentions of turning any of them on.

Carefully I make my way down the stairs, stopping to pick up my candles once I'm at the bottom before going back to the living room and closing the door. I litter the coffee table with the candles as best I can in the dark before pulling my lighter from my pocket, flaring the first one to life with it and giving myself enough light to do the rest.

When I am done there are sixteen lit candles before me, each one representing a year of Sasuke's life. It's not the musky crypt of the cathedral but there are candles, shining brightly and licking the air with flames, and that's really what I need. The same despair I feel there washes over me, taking my breath away and choking me. I lay down on my back on the floor, tilting my head to the side to watch the candles burn. The room is dark, shadows overtaking every inch except the area around me- it's vivid with yellows and golds and reds, flickering and twisting in jagged motions as the flames move. It's beautiful, and it breaks my composure to dust.

"I miss you," I utter to the air. Both Madara and Kisame have said grieving is about knowing when to be happy and knowing when to be sad- right now is the latter. The talk I had with him about my brother drained me and I now feel the need to reflect.

So I do. I let myself cry and mutter incoherently to the air, hoping that somehow my brother can hear me. I watch the candles and stay on my back on the floor, one hand draped across my forehead and body wracked with silent sobs. The only thing that matters at that moment is my brother is gone and that I am allowing myself to feel that, just for now.

This is how Madara finds me. I have no idea how he knew I was here, but I hear the door click open and can't even bring myself to pretend I am not in pieces all over his living room floor. Madara closes the door behind him and comes to my side, kneeling down and observing the candles rather than me.

"I wasn't asleep," he admits. "I got concerned when you didn't come back."

He says no more, sitting on his knees next to me while the candles dance, oblivious to the change of atmosphere in the room. We both watch them do so before it's me that breaks the silence, calling out his name quietly to get his attention.

"I can't keep running to the cathedral," I tell him. "So I bought the candles home instead."

"You stole candles from a cathedral?" Madara misinterprets. "Talk about securing a first class ticket to Hell, Itachi."

I can't help but laugh at him, shaking my head to indicate he's wrong as I pull myself up into a sitting position. Madara watches me as I do so.

"This is positive," he says. "You might not think it, but it is."

He leaves me with these words as he pulls himself to his feet, one hand fleetingly brushing my shoulder as he heads for the door. I watch as he closes it behind him, leaving me with my candles, my privacy and what's left of my dignity.

The brief interlude with my uncle has calmed me somewhat, meaning I am able to sit cross-legged on the floor observing the candles quietly, my mind a jumble of thoughts but my eyes dry. The carpet is more comfortable than the stone I am used to, and I smile just a fraction when I realise I could get used to this way of doing things.

-.-.-

The following morning I put off calling Kisame as long as possible, finally realising around eleven that I'm just working myself up into a frenzy by trying to avoid my plan for the day. I already told Madara what I was going to do and he simply nodded in what seemed like approval.

Kisame answers the phone cheerily and says he will let me know when he's on the train so we can meet at the station. He doesn't remember the way to my apartment- not that I would expect him to, but since the day is bitter and wet I take my car to collect him.

It must be freezing since even Kisame mentions how warm it is in my car when he opens the passenger door and slips inside quickly. I don't mind him being there now. It's not like Sasuke's the only person to ever sit in the passenger seat of my car, even if he was the most frequent. I acknowledge that this is a positive thought, giving me hope for the day.

I don't waste any time when we arrive at my place. I lead Kisame straight through to Sasuke's room, standing outside the door almost nervously. I haven't entered this room since before he died.

"You do it," I finally tell Kisame, stepping aside and averting my eyes. Kisame opens the door easily, waiting for me to enter before he follows.

It's a mess. I didn't look in when I closed the door to it, but I'm not surprised. A textbook lays open on his desk and some of his half-finished notes sit with it. The laundry hamper is half full, though there's another basket's worth of washing strewn across the floor. His bed is unmade and the curtains still drawn. It looks like the room of a typical sixteen year old.

I don't even know where to begin. Kisame waits patiently at my side before I finally head cautiously to laundry basket, pushing it in Kisame's direction.

"Take this to the kitchen please," I request, and he does so without question. It leaves me gathering the rest of the clothes from the floor and meeting him there, filling the machine and turning it on. This is as good a start as any.

I realise I'm simply sitting on my knees in front of the washing machine when Kisame sits beside me, snapping me out of it to glance at him. He's wearing navy jeans and a powder blue shirt, and it looks incredibly good on him. His eyes sparkle with concern but in my clouded mind I don't read it as such immediately. It causes me to make what is, to date, the biggest mistake of my entire life.

I kiss him.


	7. Chapter 6

**6.**

It occurs to me approximately three seconds after our lips meet that I'm doing what is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done. It doesn't stop me, however- Kisame is the one to do that, breaking the contact and attempting to say my name.

"No," I murmur, locking our lips together once more in an almost frantic manner. I've already made the mistake so I may as well continue. I need this- I need something to smile about, I need a distraction, I need _him_-

He grabs my shoulders and stops me, pushing me back and keeping his hands where they are. He meets my eye, the concern etched even deeper in the blue irises. I don't give him the chance to speak, in case he shatters the illusions I've just built up in my mind.

"I want to be _happy_ again," I hiss at him. Kisame makes me happy. What is so wrong with that?

Kisame looks troubled. "Itachi," he says. "Say I accept your advances and we spend all afternoon kissing, fucking, whatever- at the end of it you're still left with a bedroom of Sasuke's things to sort out. You'll go right back to feeling like you do right now- you know that, right?"

"I won't," I say immediately.

He isn't convinced. Nor am I.

"I like you," I tell him, being bluntly honest.

"I like you too," he returns, though he doesn't elaborate on how much so. Then again, neither did I since I am still unsure myself what the hell I'm doing right now. "But right now is not the time."

He stands up and extends a hand to me. I take it and allow myself to be pulled to my feet, the severity of what I've just done finally sinking in. Kisame leads me back to Sasuke's room as though nothing has happened.

"If I"- I try to say, halting when I realise I don't quite know what to say. "If I was- if I- if you-"

I give up, sighing heavily and putting a hand to my forehead. Kisame simply watches, waiting for me to continue.

"If I wasn't fucked up," I finally settle for. "Would you?"

Kisame raises an eyebrow at me, a soft smile on his lips. "I'm not answering that today, Itachi."

He pushes Sasuke's door and we enter once more. I open the curtains and close the textbook, putting his notes in the desk drawer and trying not to let my eyes stray too much over his handwriting. Kisame sits in the open doorway, leaning back against the frame and watching me begin to tidy up the room. It's spotless by the time I'm done. However, simply making the room presentable was not my intention today. I genuinely have no idea how to approach the next step though.

"What do I do?" I ask Kisame quietly. I'm glad things are not awkward between us right now- he's swept my idiocy aside like it hasn't happened, for now.

"Sort out what you want to keep and what you don't," he replies- he makes it sound so simple.

Sasuke had a _lot_ of things. There is a built in cupboard in one corner of the room and when I open it, it's stacked floor to ceiling with who knows what. I slam it shut again, deciding to tackle the visible items first.

Some of it is easy. The desk lamp, the clock, the empty glass that once contained a drink- they are easy to sort. However when these kind of things are in two neat piles on the floor- one for keeping, one for not- I'm left with the more personal possessions. An extra pile comes into existence for things I'm not sure about, which is where most of it ends up. The temptation to keep it all is huge, but it's impractical. I know this. It doesn't change how I feel.

Considering the job at hand I feel I am doing well. I'm composed, I'm talking quietly with Kisame about nothing in particular, and I'm not allowing myself to dwell on too many memories. However this changes when I open the bottom desk drawer and realise what's inside.

Sasuke was never one to show sentimentality, but hidden inside this drawer are things that I gave him. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, small trinkets like a stuffed snake I gave him when he was seven and a figurine of a crow he happened to mention he liked a few years ago- every single thing in this drawer is linked to me in some way.

I presume my reaction comes as quite as surprise to Kisame, who has watched me deal with clothing and bed sheets and other personal items in a relatively unruffled manner, only to fall completely to pieces at the sight of what looks like a stuffed snake. This is the item I withdraw and hug closely, pain stabbing at me in a way that feels almost deadly.

"I think it's time to take a break," Kisame wisely suggests, pulling me to my feet and leading me into the living room. He leaves me curled up tearfully on the sofa, still clutching at the stuffed animal like it is Sasuke himself, and makes us both coffee. He doesn't ask what significance the toy holds. I set it on the sofa next to me when he reappears with coffee, taking the offered mug and giving him a weak smile.

"That whole drawer stays," I whisper.

"It's your decision," he reminds me. "If that's what you want, then so be it."

The silence suddenly feels awkward now we are back out of my brother's abode. I finger the edge of the mug in my hands almost nervously before deciding I may as well bring the conversation up and clear the air.

"Kisame?" I utter to get his attention. "I'm sorry about- you know."

He shrugs, apparently nonplussed. "Don't worry about it. You've got more important things to think about, right?"

I do, but I don't really want to think about them. My composure is held together by flimsy hinges right now, having only just recovered from the discovery in the drawer.

"I don't want to think about that right now. I want to think about this."

"Today you're vulnerable," Kisame tells me. "It would be unethical of me to exploit that and accept your advances."

"So you'd want to?" I attempt to pry again.

"I told you, I'm not answering that today."

"That's usually an indirect way of saying yes."

"I assure you that isn't my intention. It could mean yes, no, or something in-between."

We've reached a stalemate. He sips his coffee and I sip mine.

"I do like you," I exclaim before I can disengage my brain from my mouth. "I mean, _like_ you. You're attractive and kind and-"

He cuts me off with one raised hand. I'm sure it's obvious I sound like a giddy schoolgirl. "Itachi," he smiles. "Not today."

When the mugs are empty it's time to go back to the task at hand. I close the drawer firmly after replacing the snake, telling myself I'm going to leave what I'm keeping in here for now. I'm not convinced I can do it all today as it is- there's so much to sort through, and I already feel emotionally and physically exhausted.

I continue for another hour or so, Kisame finally interjecting when I've been sitting on my knees staring into space for a few minutes, barely even blinking.

"Itachi?" He calls, snapping me out of it. "I think you've done enough today."

I certainly don't complain at the thought of stopping this impossible task. I head straight for the kitchen with every intention of making us food, but a buzzing noise stops me. It's the entry phone, which I pick up in mild confusion, only to find Madara on the other end. It's far too early for him to have finished work but I let him inside the apartment block anyway, going to my front door to open it for him.

"I left work early," he says the moment he's in view, his tone daring me to question him. I don't. "Nagato happened to come by so I left him in charge for the afternoon."

Deidara is behind him. This discovery confuses me, waving back at him when he grins and waves at me, stepping into my apartment after Madara.

"It's been a while," Deidara tells me. "I thought I'd come and check up on you."

"He insisted," Madara says, speaking in a tone that suggests Deidara is a flea and he is a rat, trailed by the unwelcome creature on his travels. It makes me give Deidara a smile, knowing that means he wanted to come and wasn't coerced into it.

I call for Kisame to come, which he does. He looks at Deidara curiously, who returns the sentiment before I interject.

"Kisame, this is Deidara- he's a workmate of mine. Deidara, this is my friend Kisame."

They shake hands and exchange polite pleasantries, all of us glancing to Madara who is halfway down the hall. He stops in Sasuke's doorway, turning to me and indicating inside.

"Do you mind?" He asks. I frown in confusion, earning myself a typical Uchiha glare that Madara intends to speak for him. It doesn't help me any so he sighs and gestures again. "A memento?" He explains, exasperated.

"Oh!" I exclaim a little dumbly. "Go ahead."

I don't know if he's looking for anything in particular, or whether he's simply going to browse until he finds something. As long as he doesn't want anything from the bottom drawer of Sasuke's desk, I'm happy. Kisame appears at my side in the doorway, giving Madara one of his usual smiles and a wave hello.

"Hello Itachi's boyfriend," Madara greets infuriatingly, not even looking up from the task at hand. I'm thankful for this, since I feel my cheeks burn in remembrance of our earlier kiss. Kisame's an excellent kisser. Behind us, Deidara instantly starts snickering and nudging my ribs like he's been let in on some kind of untold secret.

"The name's Kisame, Sir."

"Sir?" Madara finally glances round, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "You don't work for me. I'm Madara."

"Nice to meet you, Madara."

"Boyfriend, eh?" Deidara whispers in my ear.

"He's not my boyfriend," I hiss back. Deidara gives me a smug look but stays silent. He clearly doesn't believe me.

"How has he been?" Madara asks Kisame, pointing to me and speaking like I am not present. I grit my teeth in annoyance.

"As good as can be expected," Kisame replies.

Madara nods, finally stopping in his quest to empty Sasuke's cupboard out onto the floor behind him. He pulls out stuffed hawk, not unlike the snake I gave him.

"Sappy little bastard," Madara laughs to himself as he begins to put the rest of the contents back. I recognise the hawk- Madara won it from a crane machine when we went on vacation once and, inevitably, ended up in an arcade so Madara could touch upon gambling.

"Did you know he'd kept it?" I ask him.

"Yes," Madara confirms. "He told me that he still had it 'shoved in a cupboard somewhere' when I asked him about it a year or so ago. Turns out he was telling the truth."

Why Madara wants the hawk above anything else, I do not know. It isn't my place to pry either. He won't elaborate and truthfully, I don't want him to feel like he has to either.

"Have you taken a break today?" Madara asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

I answer 'yes' as Kisame answers 'not really'.

"I'm going to believe Kisame over you," Madara tells me flatly, standing up and closing the now-full cupboard door. "Do you even have any food here right now?"

He stalks past me to my kitchen, apparently disbelieving me when I attempt to explain that I do. He takes one look at the mediocre contents of my kitchen before sighing heavily and going to fetch my phone. I've eaten more takeout in the last month whilst living at Madara's than I have in my entire life- the man is apparently allergic to cooking and refuses to let me do it for him. The only times I have succeeded is when I have food waiting for when he arrives home. I should stop doing that- every time I do he makes a joke that could be construed as misandry if he wasn't male as well, concerning housewives and knowing their place. It is certainly bigoted, and usually earns him my best Uchiha scowl.

As we wait for takeout to arrive I discover that Deidara, Madara and Kisame in one room together is a very bad idea indeed. Deidara is doing his usual avoidance of the topic of my brother, Madara sips his coffee I was sent to make in silence while Kisame talks with Deidara about who-knows-what. I'm trying not to listen. Deidara generally comes hand in hand with disaster.

"So," Deidara finally says, unable to restrain himself. "Itachi's a nice guy, yeah."

"He is," Kisame nods in agreement.

"I mean he's like the nicest guy I've ever met," Deidara continues to shower me with praise. This can only end badly. "And he's single-" He stops when I jab him sharply in the ribs from my spot on the sofa next to him.

All Deidara is doing is reminding me that I am attracted to Kisame and he isn't going to indulge me. Deidara's brand of convincing is not going to help.

"I don't think he needs you to try and match-make him," Kisame chuckles, and I am both happy he's attempting to brush Deidara's ridiculous attempts away, but also partially morose that he isn't going to indulge me.

"Why not?" Deidara asks, eyes narrowed slightly. "He's cute, right? He's nice. He's-"

"Deidara," I growl at him. "Enough. Why must you attempt to set me up with _every_ single person I meet?"

"Because you need to get laid!" Deidara argues, turning my cheeks scarlet. Madara smirks behind his coffee cup and even Kisame looks amused. Despite my death glare, Deidara continues. "Come on Itachi- seriously, when was the last time you got some?"

"That is absolutely none of your business."

"Was it that girl? The one with blonde hair we met up that club, when you were so drunk you nearly fell onto the train tracks-"

Madara snickers at this piece of information while Kisame looks suitably embarrassed on my behalf. I don't give Deidara an answer, but if looks could kill he'd be six feet under and then some.

"Because if it was that was _eight_ months ago! That's the last person I saw you hook up with."

I correct myself- if looks could kill Deidara would be dead, resurrected, and immediately killed again. He's actually right, but there's no way I'm going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"So yes, Kisame," Deidara concludes. "Please date my friend! If you're having trouble loosening him up just get a few drinks down him, that soon gets him losing his classy act, yeah. There was this one guy he must have _really_ liked because one minute he was with me at the club and the next, he was gone, and I found him-"

I slam a hand over his mouth immediately, curling my hand around his hair and tugging lightly in a threat that says I'll pull if he continues. Deidara's protective of his blond locks, and quiets immediately.

"Now, now," Madara speaks up. "You found him where, Deidara?"

He's using his work voice on the guy. Deidara straightens up immediately and as a result, I clamp my hand around his mouth even tighter. He struggles slightly under my grasp.

"You assume Kisame is even interested in me," I tell him, keeping my voice light. "Just because my preferences are broad does not mean everyone else is the same way."

"Oh come on!" Deidara protests as he finally pulls free. "I'm straight and even I'd do you, yeah."

What a lovely piece of information I did not need to know. I think Madara is going to give himself an aneurysm if he suppresses his laughter any longer.

"Then why don't _you_ sleep with him?" Kisame suggests. "That sounds logical."

I feel betrayed by his entry to this conversation and send him a glare that tells him this. He shrugs and gives me a guilty look, but the smile on his face says he isn't all that sorry. I'm sure my cheeks are going to stay permanently red if I can't rid myself of the burn on them soon. I've had a few casual hook-ups, this much is true, but regardless of what Deidara believes I don't _need_ them, nor do I care for them all that much.

"So where did you find him?" Madara asks again airily, and I don't have time to get my hand over Deidara's mouth before he answers.

"Getting molested in the middle of the dance floor," Deidara replies, looking scandalised. "In _full view_ of everyone!"

I've had enough of this conversation and promptly take action against it, shoving Deidara off of the sofa. He's not expecting it and he cries out in alarm, glaring up at me from the floor while the other occupants of the room laugh.

"Deidara," I say sharply. "I'm sure my uncle doesn't need the sordid details of what I've done under the influence of too much alcohol, and neither does my friend."

The takeout delivery arrives at this moment and I am so glad that it has. I flee to get it, leaving Deidara to mutter to himself as he picks himself up from the floor, waiting by the front door once I've let the delivery man inside the main building. Kisame follows, laughing slightly as he reaches my side.

"Ignore him," I tell him immediately.

"It's an amusing line of conversation given our interactions earlier," Kisame says quietly, a smile on his face as he speaks. He reaches out and pokes me on the forehead, not realising that the action causes me to stiffen immediately. "Allow yourself to laugh today of all days, Itachi."

I nod, unable to take it what he's just said because I'm too fixated on the forehead poke he just gave me. He had no way of knowing he just did something I've done to Sasuke since we were children. He's already left to go back to the living room, leaving me to pay for the takeout. The man looks confused when he arrives at the door and I'm leaning against the frame, taking deep breaths so I don't burst into tears.

Such tiny things can trigger memories, thoughts and feelings. I take the food through and sit back down, radiating an air of melancholy judging by the looks Madara and Kisame give me.

"It looks like it's been a long day for you," Madara says quietly. Deidara immediately looks a little uncomfortable, shooting me a look out of the corner of his eye. He cares- he really does, but its moments like now I have to remind myself that everyone cares differently.

"Is has been," I reply truthfully. I don't need to say that I'm currently unsettled by Kisame's attempt at a comforting gesture. The day itself is more than enough to set me off kilter as it is.

"Did you get much done?"

"About half."

"If you need me to remove anything just let me know."

Madara's way of caring is steadily becoming more conventional. I have to say I quite like it, giving him a soft smile as a thanks. We eat in quiet, making light conversation about the meal and thankfully avoiding further conversation about my brother. I'm sure Deidara appreciates it as much as I do.

"Am I giving you a lift home then?" Madara asks Deidara when we're done. Kisame elects to kindly gather the used cutlery and plates to wash them up.

"If you wouldn't mind," Deidara replies sheepishly.

"How about you?" Madara asks of myself.

"I drove here," I shrug. "I'll drive back to you tomorrow."

I'm too emotionally drained to trek back to Madara's tonight. All I want to do is not think for a while and take some time to myself to reflect. I'm not keen on the idea of staying alone in my apartment, but I tell myself if I can face sorting out Sasuke's things, I can face one night back here.

As Madara and Deidara are on their way out of the door Deidara suddenly turns, giving me a discomfited glance over his shoulder. Madara continues walking, calling that he'll meet him out at the car. Kisame's still washing up so it's just us in the hallway- I'm confused while Deidara looks a little guilty about something.

"Itachi," he finally speaks. "Madara told me you've been struggling a bit with... Well, you know. Sasuke and everything, yeah. I just want you to know I've been worried about you."

He ends his small speech by giving me what is possibly the most awkward hug I've ever experienced. I don't return it because it's swift and unexpected, but all the same it is appreciated.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely, giving him a warm smile. "I've been doing better recently."

He beams at me and waves, indicating over his shoulder. "I'd better go before your uncle leaves me here," he sighs. "But you know where I am if you need me." He extends his thumb and pinky into the sign of a telephone, holding it to his ear as he walks backwards through the communal hall. "Give me a call, yeah."

He vanishes through the door and out of my sight before I can reply either way, leaving me to smile softly to myself. Kisame's just finishing the washing up, giving me one of his usual smiles when I enter the kitchen to find him.

"So you're staying here tonight?" He comments, presumably having heard what I said to Madara.

"I'm too tired to drive back to Madara's place."

"Will you be alright on your own?"

It occurs to me that Kisame might have been expecting me to drive him to the station at least, and I have just dismissed the idea of doing so with my words.

"Would you like to stay?" I ask instead of doing the sensible thing and telling him I'll do so regardless of my mood. The need for company bites at me though, forcing my lips.

"I was going to offer," Kisame shrugs. "Go and relax, Itachi."

I don't need to be told twice. I hope going to lie on my bed is not being too rude, but I'm so exhausted I don't have much of a choice. I leave the door open- an invite for Kisame to come and sit with me, if he wishes. It makes me feel less guilty.

When Kisame does this, it occurs to me that perhaps giving the man an open invitation to my bedroom probably wasn't the smartest idea. Ever since the kiss we shared I've been wondering about the possibility of more- I just can't get the thought of how happy it would make me out of my mind. I've never felt like this about another person before and it frightens me a little how I now feel for him. However, I respect him- he said no for now and I shall heed it, but only for now.

"You know when you poked my forehead earlier?" I say instead. "I used to do that to Sasuke."

"Oh," he breathes. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know," I shrug. "Just... Don't do it again, please."

"Of course, Itachi."

"There's a spare cover and pillows in the airing cupboard. Would you like me to get them?"

"I'm sure I'm capable of finding them," he chuckles. "Would you like to be left alone to sleep?"

I don't like being left alone. I shake my head, not looking at him as I do so.

"Alright then," he nods, shifting his position on the bed to make himself more comfortable. "If you want me to go, just say."

I drag myself off of the bed and hold a finger up to him to indicate I will be back soon, heading to get ready to sleep. I can't refuse the offer of someone choosing to stay and knowing he's there will help me sleep easier. Five minutes or so later I re-enter, feeling a little sub conscious as I've removed my shirt. He glances at me, eyes flicking up and down just once before he averts his gaze. I take the moment to climb under the cover, closing my eyes with a soft sigh.

"You said not today," I say softly. "So can we talk about what happened tomorrow?"

"We can talk about it when the time is right."

"When will that be?"

"Let me be the decider of that," Kisame replies with a low chuckle. "Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?"

"Please," I whisper.

"Alright then," he says, and he keeps his word.

-.-.-

I wake up the next morning feeling reasonably rested and free of nightmares. There's a bundle of covers on the floor next to me and I wonder if Kisame slept here in my room- I can't ask him, since if he did he is no longer present. I head down the hall towards the bathroom and get my answer, hearing the roar of the shower. I have to smile slightly to myself at the memory it provokes of my teenage years, where Madara would spend an inordinate amount of time in the shower or preening in the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning. I bought him a full length mirror for his bedroom which he migrated to after showering instead. He thanked me for my thoughtfulness- I didn't tell him I just wanted access to the bathroom before I had to leave for school sometimes.

Waking up to another person in the house is a feeling that leaves me quite bright as I make coffee, trying not to think inappropriate thoughts about Kisame being naked in my shower. My libido is certainly making itself known- I wonder briefly if Deidara's observations about my sex life have some founding. Maybe I do need to 'get laid' after all.

Kisame appears wrapped in just a towel about ten minutes later, exposing his damp shirtless chest to me as I turn around to greet him. He's rubbing another towel through his hair, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry," he apologises for reasons I cannot comprehend, because all I _can_ note right now is his toned chest and how his towel looks like it might fall off of his hips should he move just a little too quickly. "I hope you don't mind me using your shower. I borrowed some shower gel too- I hope that wasn't a problem."

"Of course it isn't," I shrug, telling myself to stop staring at him. The towel really is quite precarious, clasping to his hips lightly- almost _teasingly_, making me wonder what it hides. I was going to offer him coffee and breakfast but I am currently rendered incapable of speech. "I'm going to shower too," I say finally, going back to my original intention before I discovered Kisame had beaten me to it. "Feel free to get something to eat."

"Sure- thank you" he says with one of his brilliant smiles, leaving me to scurry past him and take a few deep, calming breaths when I am safely behind the bathroom door.

When I come back dressed equally scant as he, Kisame's made himself coffee and toast. I'm quite thankful for this fact, since my mood has dropped and I've slipped back into feeling saddened. The mood swings are the worst part about grief- one moment you're fine, and the next you realise your impromptu guest has used Sasuke's shower gel so the bathroom now smells like him.

"What's wrong?" Kisame asks as I hover in the doorway, unsure whether to bring this fact up or not. I can't change it and it will only make Kisame feel guilty. He didn't know.

"Nothing," I settle on. "I'm still a bit tired."

I head to get dressed instead of facing his curious gaze. When I come back he has also shed his towel and re-dressed, though with my current mood I don't feel disappointed like I might have done half an hour ago.

It's a new day, and I have a task at hand to complete. I could leave it but Kisame is here and I need his support. I call to him that I'm going to Sasuke's room- he doesn't reply, but he makes himself present in the doorway shortly after. I'm sitting on my knees next to the huge cupboard Madara went through, the door open while I begin to shift things out and mentally sort them. There are a lot of things from his childhood here- toys or clothes he's grown out of. These are things I already told him to take to charity when he grew but now I'm faced with these relics of his childhood, I have no idea if I can bring myself to do so either.

My frame of mind is different to yesterday. I'm finding myself frustrated today, unable to put anything anywhere but the 'keep' pile despite knowing that I need to. Kisame sits down next to me but stays quiet, watching me eventually just pull the contents of the cupboard out onto the floor and stare at it all dismally. I want to just put the whole lot back in and keep it, but this isn't about that. This is about healing, about moving on, about keeping things from Sasuke's life but not everything because that isn't going to help me move forward in the long run.

It is _not_ about throwing a glorified tantrum because you can't just _do_ what you need to do, but that doesn't stop me doing so. It has me roughly slamming the cupboard door loudly enough to make Kisame wince slightly, roughly moving some of the objects out of the way so I can sit back down away from it all. I'll probably regret that later but right now I don't have the capacity to care.

"I can't do it," I hiss at Kisame, my frustration evident in my tone.

"Sometimes you can't," he says simply, his own voice even. "Take some time and come back to it later. Don't upset yourself over it."

I've gone from being in denial to trying to move forward too quickly. The revelation is a sharp one, leaving me burying my face in my hands in frustration and sighing heavily.

"Come on," Kisame says to me kindly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let's get out of here and do something entertaining."

The only thing I want to do right now is go back to bed and start the day again. I suggest as much to Kisame and he gives me a sympathetic look, but shakes his head slowly.

"I don't think that will make you feel any better, Itachi."

It would. I know it would. That said I'd probably be plagued by thoughts of Sasuke in my sleep, so perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea after all. I let him lead me to the living room, smiling at me and indicating the window behind him.

"It's a nice day," he says. He's lying- there sun might be shining, but I know it's going to be freezing. "Shall we go out? We can come back and you can try again later."

"Why not?" I sigh. It's not like I have anything better to do and staying here today is going to drive me insane.


	8. Chapter 7

**7.**

Pessimism, I discover, is something that does not go hand in hand with my friend's attempts at cheering me up. He's convinced me to drive us to town- the town with the cathedral, which I am tactfully staying away from. I have 'cured' myself of the need to visit it with my candles, waiting at Madara's place for me. Kisame said getting out of the house would do me good. He's probably right, but I can't see it.

I am terrible company today. I am aware, completely aware, of this but unable to change it. Kisame is deciding which shops we visit and I trail without a word, not caring or paying much attention. He sees the light in things and right now I only see the dark- this is all too apparent when I debunk everything he says to me with something negative. Eventually he leads me back to the first coffee shop where we met. Being in view of the cathedral does nothing to appease my mood.

"Relax," he tells me softly, speaking over the chatter of the coffee shop customers. It's busy, thriving with people and life that Sasuke no longer has. "You're tense today."

"Of course I am," I tell him tersely.

"Understandably," he says, but he doesn't try to coerce me into further conversation. This is in both of our best interests, because I am acting like an obstinate teenager and he has the patience of a saint.

"I'm sorry," I finally mutter to him quietly.

"Don't worry about it," he laughs, waving me off. "I didn't expect this friendship to be rainbows and sunshine."

Maybe he didn't, but my current attitude is nothing but social decadence. I would feel ashamed of myself if I wasn't feeling so piteous.

"How are you so calm about all this?" I ask, setting the cup down and almost glaring at Kisame over the table. "You're patient and understanding, even if I make the most stupid mistakes or treat you terribly. _Why_?"

"Why?" He echoes. "Because I like you. Because no-one should expect a grieving person to act rationally. Because it's _hard_ and it's overwhelming and sometimes you take that frustration out on the people around you- Itachi, everything you're doing is normal and expected. It doesn't bother me."

And so, this is what leads to me almost breaking down in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. My anger has melted away, leaving only guilt and thankfulness and sorrow and many, many other things I can't express in any way but tears. I'm out the door of the shop in moments, Kisame fast on my trail as I head _away_ from the damned cathedral, the coffee shop, Kisame, and hopefully my despair.

"Itachi!" He calls, running to catch up to me and laying a hand on my shoulder to halt me. "This way."

He pulls on my arm enough to lead me out of the main high street, taking me down one of the less crowded backstreets. It's the type of street that was once filled with tiny, quaint shops that are usually the first to go in a recession- for this reason the buildings are mostly closed, with To Let signs in the windows. Other people lack the funds to create new and unique shops in their places so they lie dormant in mostly unused backstreets, the signs of the previous owner's shop name fading in the sunlight. Fading just like Sasuke did, only Sasuke didn't quite fade- he was erased in one sharp, swift motion, much like the debt collector knocking on these doors we stand by to rip the last threads of livelihood from the worn hands of those who care for it.

"I want him _back_," I hiss at Kisame when we're as alone as we can be in such a place, save for the fading signs and the dusty windows of abandoned shops. "I want him to come _home_ and sort his own damn stuff out. I don't want to do it- I _refuse_ to do it! I should just call Madara and make him take it all away." I pull my cell phone from my pocket with one shaking hand- Kisame snatches it, but doesn't speak. "Why is it harder today?" I ask Kisame frankly instead. "_Why_ can't I deal with it today?"

"Some days you just can't," Kisame says softly. "You need to recognise those days, be kind to yourself and move past them when they happen."

With that he reaches out and gathers me in a hug. I have to break it after a moment because he smells like Sasuke thanks to the shower gel mishap earlier. It doesn't make me feel any better and dislodges my composure further, leaving me pull away and bury my face in my hands. I'm irritated with myself, angrily swiping at my eyes after a moment and glaring down at the pavement.

"I've had enough of this," I tell Kisame. "All the sadness, crying, pathetic behaviour- all of it, I'm done with it."

I stalk off towards the main high street again. Kisame's response floats to my ears moments later.

"You're not done with it," he calls.

I ignore him and keep on walking.

-.-.-

It is only because of Kisame's good nature that the day is not awkward. He acts like he knows this town as he takes me round it, but he admitted once that he doesn't know it all that well. He tends to stay in seaside towns- the urban lifestyle doesn't suit him, he says. Eventually he follows a sign and leads us to the town's bowling alley, taking me by the shoulders when I stop in my tracks in the car park as I realise what he's done.

"How about a deal?" He suggests. "We can pretend this is a date if you'll smile."

I meet his gaze, eyes widening a little before shame begins to creep up on me. I've been such awful company that the man is bribing me to get me to stop moping.

"I'm sorry," I say for the second time that day, and meaning it just as much as the first apology.

"Don't be," he tells me firmly, letting my shoulders go. "Now come and kick my ass at bowling- I'm terrible at it."

He pays for both of us despite my complaints, leaving me to finally voice a question that I've been wondering about for a while. He still hasn't told me what he does, but whatever it is I presume it to be well paid. Either that or he's putting on a show for me, which if I find out is true I will be unimpressed.

"What's your job?" I ask as we wait to collect bowling shoes in the right size. Kisame chuckles and leans on the desk in front of us, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glances to me.

"I'm the Captain of a cruise ship," he says casually.

"Captain?" I repeat disbelievingly.

"The one and only," he confirms, flashing me a broad smile as the girl behind the desk brings us our shoes. "Surprised?"

I nod at him, still comprehending what he's said. If he's Captain then that means he spends most of his time onboard his ship, sailing out at sea from land to land. It must be what he loves but right then, the tiny selfish part of me is upset at this new piece of knowledge. Even if we _were_ to forge a relationship I would be tied to the docks, looking out at to the great blue yonder waiting for him to come home again.

The morbid part of my mind also substitutes the when for an 'if', knowing what happened to Kisame's father. The sea is an unforgiving place, taking lives and ships without prejudice. I had no idea this new friendship came with such a huge risk. I don't know if I can really afford to get close to someone else I could lose.

As he kneels down and ties his shoes I observe him, sinking down to my own knees opposite him to do the same. It's too late for that. I am already attached to him- the gamble has already been taken, and I am left to hope it doesn't bankrupt me.

"So do you spend a lot of time out at sea?" I ask, attempting to appear conversational, but really I'm attempting to garner information about how long he stays away for.

"I suppose," he muses as we head for our assigned lane. "We end up docked in various parts of the world too. My ship does one month on, one month off cruises so I'm at sea for six months of the year."

"The other six months are your own?"

"That's right," he says with a smile. "It's a pretty nice arrangement."

Kisame wasn't kidding when he said he was terrible at bowling. He is so bad at it that I presume he's actually attempting to be so in an effort to make me feel better. I ask him this and he laughs, giving me one of his usual smiles.

"I spend half of my year on a boat," he points out. "We don't have a bowling alley on board so it's not like I get much practise."

"What kind of things do you have onboard?"

"Typical cruise ship things," he shrugs. "A bar, a ballroom, a restaurant- think of an average holiday camp."

"So if you have a cruise ship, what's with Samehada?"

"Samehada is how I meet up with my Papa," Kisame explains with a soft smile. "He was on a sailing boat when he died- he got caught up in a rough storm. Mother Nature has a vicious side when she wants to."

I let the conversation end, not wishing to make him uncomfortable. He bowls another terrible ball, landing it straight in the gulley and sighing heavily as it does so. I can't take any more of this, approaching his side while he waits for the purple ball to come back up to us.

"See these markers on the floor?" I explain to him. "Line the ball up with them."

"That works?" He asks in surprise, grabbing the ball and positioning himself once more.

"It's a trick my uncle told me," I tell him. Kisame watches me for a moment before he does as I say, managing to knock a few pins down this time. He glances back to me with a smile, patting my shoulder as he walks past me to sit down.

"Nice trick," he admits. "Courtesy of your uncle Madara?"

"The one and only."

I don't have any other surviving family that I know of. It was always just us. It's never bothered me before but when Kisame speaks of his nephew, aunts, cousins- his _family_, it makes me wonder what I've been missing out on.

We finish the game reasonably quickly- it's no surprise that I have beaten Kisame by quite a long margin. He looks ashamed as we collect the score sheet, but still keeps it instead of throwing it away on the way out.

"Wait," Kisame says when we're by the doors, tugging my arm gently. I follow him, eyes narrowed in confusion, to a crane machine nearby. There's a small arcade section that neither of us took any previous notice of, but this machine seems to have caught Kisame's eye.

"This is supposed to be a date, right?" He laughs as he slips coins into the machine. "I at least have to win you some kind of tacky animal to go home with."

The thought makes me laugh- _actually _laugh, deep and without reservation. The whole idea is absurd and my up and down mood today isn't helping matters. Kisame watches me out of the corner of his eye in mild concern as I attempt to stop laughing, arms wrapped around myself and trying to catch my breath. The problem with this kind of laughter is you know you should stop, and that makes it worse, which in turn makes you laugh more, and before you know it you can't breathe and you're crying. This kind of laughter is rare and I am thankful for it, even though it hurts my sides.

"What on earth is so funny?" Kisame finally asks me when I'd just collected myself somewhat, causing me to laugh all over again. It makes him crack a smile too, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Stop it," I gasp at him.

"Stop what?" He says in confusion, looking at me like I may actually be demented.

"I'd like the crab," I tell him between breaths, pointing inside the machine and ignoring his question- I have no answer for it anyway. He wasn't actively doing anything that needed to be stopped, nor do I know what's so funny. I have finally managed to calm down slightly, though I can't guarantee I will stay that way, or that I won't simply burst into tears instead. My emotions are capricious today.

"The crab?" He echoes. "That one?"

He points to the bright red crab I have my eye on, with one claw sticking upwards and slightly dislodged near the back. I nod, so he aims the claw over it with a heavy sigh.

"You know that rabbit over there would have been easier," he points out.

"I don't want the rabbit," I say firmly in mock-irritation. "I want the crab."

"Then the crab you shall have," Kisame declares, before promptly failing to pick it up. This action, or lack of it rather, has me smirking again and trying to prevent falling into hysterics once more.

"Come on," I say, tapping my foot and sighing melodramatically. "I'm going to have to go and chat up some other guy to win it soon."

"My apologies," he says regally as he fails once more to snatch the toy. We stay in silence for a few more attempts before he speaks again, a hint of a smile on his lips even though his tone is serious. "You should call him Claws."

I should," I agree, trying not to laugh again myself. "And I shall. Thank you, Captain Kisame."

"Aye aye," he smirks. "I only go by Captain on my ship, so unless you fancy coming onboard to see my cabin I'll hear less of that, thank you."

"Is that an invitation?" I ask smoothly. Apparently I haven't forgotten how to turn on the charm, though seeing Kisame give me a sidelong glance of interest makes my heart swell slightly. Perhaps kissing him wasn't such a mistake after all. I lean closer to him, attempting to try my luck as I stand on tip toes and bring my lips close to his ear. "_Captain_ Kisame?"

He doesn't respond to it, but only because he's finally managed to snag the crab. He roughly deposits it in the prize box, pulling it out and shoving it at me with a put-upon sigh despite the sparkle in his eye.

"There's your damn crab," he tells me. "And now it's dark outside. Shall we go?"

The fall of night lowers my mood slightly as it means this venture is now over. I've spent a couple of days with Kisame and even though some of it hasn't been very fun, this afternoon makes up for it.

"How long until you're back to work?" I ask as we head back towards the town. We haven't said it, but we're heading for my car and we both know it.

"A few days," he shrugs. "I do want to get you onboard when she docks again though- show you around the place and all."

"As long as it doesn't move I'm sure I'll be fine," I reply, trying not to think about the fact that he will be gone so soon, or about the innuendo made earlier of visiting his cabin.

"The bigger the ship the less likely you are to get sick," he points out. "It's still possible- it depends how bad your travel sickness is."

"Bad enough," I say ruefully. "I'm alright if I'm the one driving, though."

"You're concentrating on the road," he points out. This is logical, and I hadn't thought of it before.

We find my car and I drive Kisame to the train station as per his request. He jumps out but holds the door open to speak to me, looking momentarily troubled.

"I'll be gone again soon, so if you want me to come round to be with you while you sort Sasuke's things..."

He trails off, though he doesn't have to finish. I had almost forgotten the arduous task awaiting me back home. Almost.

"I'll be in contact," I tell him. He smiles, gives me a wave and closes the door. I watch him enter the train station, waiting for him to be completely out of sight before I sigh heavily and drive off. I put myself on route back to Madara's without any hesitation- I have the pressing need to light Sasuke's candles tonight.

Madara is home when I arrive. He has actually made himself food, telling me mine is in the microwave and promises me it isn't poisoned. It's actually pretty good, and still hot since he only just finished it recently.

"Nice day?" He asks me conversationally.

"I couldn't handle sorting Sasuke's things so we went to town," I shrug. I'm still holding the crab and he's looking at it quizzically. I grin lightly and hold it up. "His name is Claws," I introduce. Madara stares at me for a moment before brushing the comment off as if I hadn't spoken- apparently, he lacks a sense of humour as well as a soul.

"You did well yesterday," he tells me. "Give it a few days."

"Kisame won't be here much longer," I say before I can stop myself. Madara looks at me curiously, and I realise I've probably just incriminated myself. "He's going back to work," I continue, hoping I am not simply digging a deeper hole. "I like having someone else there when I do it."

"I can be there if you want," he says with a shrug. Apparently my cover worked. The offer is a surprise, but he scowls at my expression that shows I am thinking that.

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell him with a nod of thanks.

After dinner Madara starts on some paperwork at the table. Since he knows about my candles now I vanish to our shared room and light them there, knowing if he walks in it won't matter. Each candle I light brightens the darkened room just a little bit more, until all sixteen are lit and lined up along the windowsill. I kneel down before them, sighing heavily at how melancholy just the sight of flickering flames makes me.

"I hope you aren't angry," I whisper. "I have to sort your things out though. I can't keep it all. You understand that, right?"

There is no reply. I chide the tiny part of me that might have been expecting one. I don't know why I've now taken to speaking to the air, but there's a part of me that's comforted by it now. Another new ritual to add to the ever-growing list.

"Besides, I told you to take most of that stuff in your cupboard to goodwill," I chide gently. "Now I'm left to do it and you know it's much harder for me than if you'd just done what I told you, don't you?"

The candles don't answer. I keep speaking anyway.

"Are you having fun?" I ask suddenly. "Like M-Madara said on his card-"

I stop as my voice wavers further, closing my eyes to the burst of memory I am assaulted with of Sasuke's funeral. It was one of those moments in your life where you experience it in vivid colours and emotions at the time, but slowly your mind begins to lock it away and it fades. You remember snippets- small flashes of emotion or the splinters of a broken heart, but you don't relive it with the same gripping force when your mind has begun to close it away.

I remember black. Seas of black on the people attending, of his coffin, of the car that brought him in, on Madara's designer shoes as I sat on the floor of the crematorium staring down at them. Everyone else was in seats but I'd abandoned mine in favour of the cold stone floor, in an attempt to hide from the scene at hand. At one point I remember clawing at the wall, perhaps hoping it would give me some kind of vague comfort, or perhaps it was in simple desperation at the situation.

No-one paid me any heed. They were wrapped up in their own feelings, and rightfully so. There were people there out of duty to their loved ones, ready to collect the pieces and mend them again, but I had no-one like that. Madara was the closest thing. I remember glancing up at him once, and only once, when I was at his feet and seeing his face carefully schooled into blankness as he stared forward at the coffin, as black as midnight and the inky colour of my sibling's hair.

It was only when we came to leave did he acknowledge me. The crematorium sprung to life despite the goodbye to the departed we had just experienced, soft chatter and sobs echoing as people began to vacate. I stayed where I was until it was just Madara and I left- he stood over me and I stayed on my knees, now curled up against the unfeeling stone wall with my forehead resting against it. It was freezing cold on that day in the middle of December, so close to Christmas- though that was the least of my concerns.

"Itachi," Madara finally spoke- the waver in his voice surprised me. "Come on, sunshine."

If I'd have had any rational thought processes in my mind I'd have balked at being called the nickname he used on me when I first moved in to his home, after my parents died. As it was I ignored it entirely, along with Madara himself. He didn't complain or try to hurry me- he simply re-took his seat and waited. The crematorium staff came over at one point to politely request we move on, but Madara snarled at them viciously enough that they backed off and left us alone.

I took the hint though- I hate to be an inconvenience. I pulled myself up with energy I didn't know I had, unsurprised that Madara slipped an arm around for me support regardless and led me outside.

"We've just done the worst part," he told me as he laid a wreath of flowers down near the crematorium door. The floor was littered with them- the only colours in the blackness.

I didn't have flowers with me. It didn't even occur to me. I'd been drifting from day to day, barely concentrating on living. I took a moment to kneel down and read the card Madara had attached to his own, wondering if he'd signed my name for me. He hadn't- I should have expected as much. It simply read 'good to have known you, Sasuke. Have fun in the ever-after'.

"You didn't sign it," I told him, my voice hoarse from far too much crying that day.

"Did I need to?" Madara protested. "He knows who I am."

As I fingered the soft petals of one of the flowers in Madara's wreath I could only hope that he was right, and that Sasuke understood why I hadn't brought him any of my own.

"It can only go up from here," Madara whispered to me before leaving me alone to kneel before the blanket of flowers, eyes stinging with pollen and grief.

That night, when I was attempting to drown myself in a bottle of whiskey, I thought that he was a liar. Tonight, before my sixteen candles, I am inclined to believe that perhaps there was truth in it. Today has been a pretty good day. Just because I am now struggling to keep myself together does not mean the entire day is a failure. This is a thought process I wouldn't have had only a month ago.

I blow out the candles without another word, going to lie down on my bed while the scent of candle smoke fills the room. Madara finds me half an hour later, sobbing into the crock of my arm quietly because the memories have become too much. My thoughts of the funeral have stayed with me, along with the reminder of our fractured Christmas. Madara spent most of the morning coaxing me to even get out of bed, having gate-crashed my apartment the night before and stayed over without my input. Had it not been for him I would have spent the day quite happily under my covers but he made me get up, presentable and join him for dinner at the table like we would have done if Sasuke had been present.

Sasuke's gift-wrapped present from myself sat underneath the red and gold tree for the whole day, untouched and entirely too visible. The red, red paper was too much like blood for my liking. I had liked it when he was alive but now I had come to despise it, just like Madara's glass of red, red port and the red, red cranberry sauce on the table that day. I made Madara take the gift with him when he left- I have no idea what he did with it, and I don't care to ask.

"Itachi," Madara calls, snapping me from my reverie. He sits on the edge of his bed with a sigh, leaving me to sit up and send him a slightly shamed glance. He breaks our locked gaze and glances across to the candles on the windowsill, looking back with recognition in his eyes.

"Your compassionate leave runs out today," he tells me. "You're due back at work on Monday. Is that alright?"

"It'll be fine," I agree, already snatching the pieces of my composure back and reassembling them. It has become slightly easier since I have allowed it to happen as and when I need it.

"Good," he nods, before leaving without another word. I can't help but feel that he just comforted me, in his strange and disconnected way.

-.-.-

Madara works from home at weekends, so when I awaken the following day on a bright Saturday and head downstairs I find him sitting at the table with a cup of coffee glancing over some paperwork. He glances up, nods at me in greeting and speaks.

"Come with me for some falconry today, Itachi."

Madara never invites me on his falconry expeditions, mostly because the first time he proudly took me with him at the tender age of eleven I screamed when his bird hunted and successfully killed a rabbit before my very eyes. He then had the audacity to be upset with me when I stopped eating meat for six months or so, claiming I was making mealtimes difficult. It didn't help that he 'helpfully' demonstrated how to skin the rabbit corpse in three seconds flat.

"Must I?" I sigh. "You know I'm not too fond of it."

"You were young. Your attitude may have changed now you're older."

I ignore him and fix breakfast, finding myself accosted by Madara half an hour later when I am presentable for the day and practically dragged to his car. I know better than to argue- what Madara wants, Madara gets. Thankfully the woodland area he visits isn't far away, meaning we are both spared my nausea from the car ride.

The falcon trainer greets us both with a smile, going to fetch Madara's usual bird. It is a Harris's Hawk- a common bird for such a sport, dusky brown in colour and regal upon Madara's arm as we head out into the woodland. Madara actually smiles at it, bidding it hello like one would a beloved pet. It's strange to see, and a little unnerving.

I'm surprised to find Nagato waiting as we venture to a clearing in the woodland. He, too, has one of the magnificent birds on his arm, giving me a curious glance before dispelling it and nodding instead in our direction.

"These birds hunt in packs," Madara explains to me. "Nagato- this is my nephew, Itachi."

"We've met," Nagato says, his voice a little sharp but not unkind. What he means by 'met' is we've sat around the same table for business meetings- all he knows of me is that I am related to Madara and my brother was killed, thanks to my uncle's conduct at our last meeting together.

They set their birds free into the air, chatting politely to each other in the way that only businessman can. Anyone can see that neither of them have much to talk about that isn't business, but they are at least trying. It also means I am not expected to join the conversation- or I may be, but I don't, leaning against a nearby tree with a soft sigh. Standing around in the middle of the woods waiting for the birds to exhibit their superiority in the food chain to lesser creatures is not exciting in the slightest.

I'm thankful I have phone signal in these remote woodlands, sending a text to Kisame asking if he's up to much. The reply I receive shortly after tells me he isn't, and we end up conversing via this medium for at least an hour or so. He gives me sympathy for my situation, but sympathy doesn't help my boredom.

"Itachi," Madara calls to me, causing me to put my phone away and make my way over to him. It seems I have been caught ignoring the entire process thus far. The Harris Hawk is once again back on his arm, its claws bloody with the life-force of some poor, small animal. Judging by the corpse Nagato is inspecting, it appears to be a rabbit. I swiftly turn away, not wanting to witness a re-enactment of the skinning I was forced to observe as a child.

"Are you done preying on the weak?" I ask in a double layered question that could also liken him to his hawk and myself to the rabbit.

"Now, now, Itachi," he chides. "Don't be like that. Would you like to try?"

He offers out his arm and I shake my head immediately. I may be here but I have no intentions of joining in.

"Is he Fugaku's boy?" Nagato chuckles to himself, causing me to stiffen slightly. "Fugaku loved falconry."

It's an observation I wish he hadn't made. I am not my father, nor do I plan to act as he might of. I keep my gaze on Madara, wondering if he will indulge the conversation.

"Indeed," Madara sighs, sounding defeated. "Itachi is different though. Despite all the years under my care he isn't morally corrupt yet."

They laugh together lightly as if that's supposed to be some kind of joke. I fail to get it if it is.

"Fugaku wasn't either," Nagato says wistfully as he holds his arm up. Madara does the same and the majestic birds once again take flight. "I should have guessed you ended up with his brats when he died."

I'm not offended by Nagato's language- this is just how he speaks, without consequence or tact. I am used to this thanks to Madara. It seems he has recently been told the story of how Sasuke and I came to live with our uncle, as if it were a secret previously. That makes sense since Madara isn't one to share personal details.

"It was either that or lose them to the care system," Madara says distastefully. "He'd have haunted me if I'd have allowed that."

"You Uchihas are all the same- tough on the outside, soft in the middle."

"Are you calling me soft, Nagato?"

"Of course, Madara. You fool no-one. If someone had shown up on my doorstep and dumped two kids on me, I'd have given them straight back."

"Yeah but they were only kids," Madara shrugs. "You don't do that to kids."

"I would of."

"You're an asshole," Madara says good naturedly, and I have to suppress a chuckle at _him_ of all people speaking those words to someone else.

"And you're soft. Point proven. Hey kid, you ever seen someone skin a rabbit before?"

I bristle slightly at being referred to as 'kid' despite my best efforts to ignore it, and I keep my eyes averted. "Unfortunately."

"Ah," Nagato sighs, and the sound of ripping flesh is sickening a moment later. "Too bad."

Considering this is Nagato, I'm unsurprised that he is disappointed he didn't get to alarm me with the action. He is quite similar to my uncle- cynical, driven and forward. This is what happens to businessman the older they get.

"How are things with Konan?" Madara asks, and I am glad the conversation has diverted away from my personal life and to Nagato's instead.

"You know how it is," Nagato remarks. "One minute she's fine and the next she's insane."

"She's a woman," Madara points out, as if it is the answer to everything.

Nagato snorts at that. "Like you know anything about women."

"I've had plenty of ladies warming my bed," Madara disagrees. I resist the urge to cover my ears just in case he elaborates. "But I'm sensible enough to kick them out in the morning. You're the idiot who stays with the same one. Do you two actually get any work done or do you just fuck on your desk all day?"

"Crazy bitch wants to get married," Nagato sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you imagine? Us, _married_? We'd knife each other within three months, I guarantee it." He turns to me, looking inquisitive. "Any brats of your own on the cards then, Itachi?"

The sneaky bastard certainly knows how to turn a conversation away from himself when he's uncomfortable. Madara laughs, answering for me before I can politely tell Nagato no and divert it back to him once more.

"I doubt he's going to knock anyone up any time soon- besides, with him you never know which gender he's going to bring home."

Nagato studies me with a hint of surprise, whereas I keep my features carefully neutral while imagining that I am ripping my uncle's throat out. "I see," he says neutrally. "Well, experiment when you're young. Settling down is for the middle aged and the stupid."

"Fugaku and Mikoto were very happy," Madara points out. "They were in their early twenties when they got married."

"Yes but they were Uchiha," Nagato dismisses the observation with a wave of his hand. "You lot play by different rules."

I'm still seething from the insinuation that I'm just 'experimenting', but I keep my lips sealed. It's a harmless comment from a man of a different generation, and it was hardly derogatory. I know I'm taking offense because my latest attraction happens to be male and I don't want to think it's just a phase or that it doesn't mean much, because I'm slowly realising that it does.

I don't want him to go back onto his boat. I know it's his job, and I know asking him to stay would be ludicrous, but I still wish that he would. I will keep this information to myself however, and bid him farewell like an adult when the time comes. As the Harris Hawks return with a fresh rabbit corpse, I finger my phone in my pocket before finally letting it go. I can begin to get used to his lack of contact by ignoring the beep that tells me he is messaging me.

-.-.-

Kisame is not someone who can be easily ignored. He seems to know exactly what to say to get me to take notice of him, and in this case it's a text late on Sunday that gives me some disturbing news. All it says is 'I'm leaving tomorrow. Be at the harbour at 7.30am if you want to say goodbye.'

Seven fifteen, and I am standing on the docks shivering against the frigid winds and mentally cursing my lack of resolve. It would have been so much easier to just let him leave without this, but no. I just can't do that.

He appears five minutes or so later, giving me a smile and a wave. "You've been hard to get hold of these last couple of days," he muses. "I was hoping you'd get the message."

"My uncle has kept me busy," I say, which is a partial truth.

He smiles again almost knowingly, but he lets the matter go. He gestures behind him, motioning to Samehada tied up nearby, bobbing lightly on the sea.

"My ship doesn't dock here," he chuckles. "So I take Samehada and sail to the main port. It's not that far."

What he's actually saying is our goodbye comes now. I nod slowly and extend a hand to him, giving him a soft smile. He takes it and we share a brief handshake before our hands drop back to our sides.

"What's your address? I'll send a postcard," Kisame says with a grin. He has a pen and paper ready in moments from his pocket, presumably for this question. I falter before giving him Madara's address, since I have no idea when I will finally go back to my own home. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone and remember- you have people looking out for you, even though I'm not here."

He pauses and looks at me cautiously for a moment before stepping a little closer, cupping the side of my face with one hand lightly. I stiffen, eyes widening as he draws his lips close to my ear.

"When I get back we can discuss that kiss," he promises. His breath is hot against my freezing cold ear, leaving me suppressing a shudder. "But not right now. Think about it while I'm gone, and I will too, and we'll see if we meet in the middle when I get back."

He pulls away, leaving my cheek burning slightly from his warm touch as he waves and heads off across the slippery wooden boards of the dock. I wave back and turn to leave, not wishing to watch him get into Samehada as that signifies him truly leaving. I walk away without a glance behind me, my heart pounding so much I can feel it in my ears.


	9. Chapter 8

**8.**

Going back to work feels slightly foreign to me. I'm over an hour late but I warned Madara that I might be, and he sanctioned it by waving me away and shrugging his indifference. I stop and pick us both up a coffee on my way, setting his on his desk as I enter our shared office.

"Nice to finally see you," he tells me, but he isn't chiding me. I snatch his cigarettes off of his desk instead of replying and steal one from the box, earning myself a sharp glare in response that meets my back as I turn and head for my desk.

My inbox tray is crammed full. I frown and leaf through the papers, realising some are over a couple of weeks old. Madara most certainly hasn't been coping in my absence, even if he would never mention it. It seems like I have a busy morning on my hands. I take the time to enjoy the stolen cigarette first, flaunting the no smoking rule in the building in a rare moment of disobedience.

It takes me almost an hour to sort the tray into date order before starting work on the oldest first in order to clear the backlog. I'd almost forgotten how absorbing work is, and how much of a distraction it serves as. I've barely had the chance to breathe, let alone mull over Sasuke. This is why I worked through my grief in the first place, but now I feel different- lighter, almost. I will never tell Madara that he was right about my need for compassionate leave, but I'm sure he knows. Even if he were wrong he'd think he was right because he's Uchiha Madara. I also won't tell him Kisame's care has also contributed. I'll let him have his fleeting sense of self-satisfaction.

The morning passes quickly enough and before I know it, Madara is demanding I actually take my lunch hour. I don't care enough to argue so I head off to the cafeteria, almost bumping into Deidara as he rounds a corner swiftly.

"Oh- Itachi!" He exclaims. "Madara said you'd be back today, yeah. I'll buy you lunch."

Deidara is rather like Sasuke. It's something I came to realise quite quickly after meeting him and it helps me harbour some protective instinct over the younger man- it also works in his favour, because it means I don't rip his throat out when he's being irritating. He is hot headed and rash but his heart is in the right place, just like my sibling. Because looking over his transgressions is practically mandatory, I am left with no choice but to endure his quizzing about Kisame as we settle down for lunch.

"So," he says with a grin. "About Kisame-"

"He is a friend," I interrupt immediately. Deidara laughs like I've said something amusing, shaking his head with a sigh.

"Right," he says flatly. "A _friend_."

I want to change the subject, but all I can think about is Kisame's touch on my cheek and his warm breath on my ear.

"You don't make friends," Deidara continues- thankfully he is not all that perceptive when he is on a tirade. I glare at him, taking offense to his statement. "Don't look at me like that, yeah! The only people outside of work you've met are people you've slept with."

"You speak about me like I have no class," I sigh.

"There's no 'class' in getting molested in the middle of a dance floor."

"I was drunk," I say in defence, even though it's a flimsy excuse at best.

"Or how about that time you ditched me on a night out because you met that redhead chick that looked kind of like Sasori-"

"You're just jealous."

"Or- hey! I am not jealous!" He says indignantly when he realises what I've said. I send him a smug smile to remind him I am an Uchiha, and therefore I am above both him and his attempts at lowering the tone.

"Kisame approached me and extended some comfort when I was upset," I explain, giving the bare minimum of details. "That is all."

"_You_, upset?" Deidara scorns. I honestly do think he has forgotten about Sasuke sometimes, but the raised eyebrow I send him soon reminds him. He reddens and frantically waves his hands in defence, looking a little shamed. "Oh. _Oh_, about _that_. Oh. Sorry."

'That' is his way of referring to Sasuke's death and anything to do with it. The last time we met he made it clear he does care and he's there if I need it, which I am happy enough with to let it go and allow him to skip over the subject as usual.

"So you're saying you _don't_ want Kisame to fuck you?" Deidara says slyly.

"Correct."

"I'll believe it when I see it," he chuckles, before finally giving up and turning his attention back to his lunch. I had no idea why my sex life is of so much interest to him. I like to presume it's because he isn't getting much of one himself, which is mostly because the man is so far in the closet I am surprised he isn't having adventures involving a lion and a witch.

We finish lunch quickly and I avoid any further questioning by slinking back off to my office. Madara gives me a glance and tells me I still have half an hour of my break left, which I smoothly ignore as I sit back at my desk.

"I ate lunch," I tell him defensively as he continues to look at me. He realises he has been caught _caring_, which earns me a sharp scowl before he continues his work and I continue mine.

-.-.-

When Madara and I finally step over the threshold of his home, I am so shattered I can barely stand upright. I got up at five and we stayed in the office until eight, trying to catch up on work. Madara took it upon himself to help me, which was appreciated. I have no idea how he managed to get so far behind when he used to handle the job alone with no problems- perhaps he is used to my presence at his side now, or perhaps he was simply slacking in my absence.

I tell him I'm going to head to bed, which is exactly what I do. He lightly protests that I should eat first, which I ignore in favour of collapsing into bed and closing my eyes gratefully. As I begin to drift off it occurs to me that I've barely thought about my brother today. It startles me awake again, causing me to frown and mull it over.

On one hand, it's positive. It means I am finally beginning to move forward in life, rather than living in the past with the ghost of my brother's memory. On the other, it makes me feel like a terrible sibling and that I am forgetting him- untrue and impossible, but it still gives me reason to feel subdued. It also means sleep doesn't come easily despite my tired state, so I get back up and venture downstairs. Madara is eating microwave rice straight from the container, leaning against the countertop in the kitchen. I don't have the heart to be surprised.

"Is it alright to have days where I don't think about him as much?" I ask from my spot hovering in the doorway. He doesn't answer, raising an eyebrow at me as though I've just asked the answer for two plus two, but my attention isn't on him anymore. It's on a binder, lying open next to Madara on the kitchen counter. He sees me looking, and a flicker of something akin to alarm sets itself within his eyes.

"What's in the binder?" I ask curiously, wondering what in contains that it would elicit such a reaction from him.

Madara stares at me, clearly wondering whether to indulge me, before he finally sets his rice down and takes up the binder, shoving it in my direction. I take it slowly, only getting a few moments to browse it before he snatches it back again. It's enough though- I have the answer, but it doesn't make much sense to me.

"Recipes?" I ask incredulously. Madara has been eating takeout and quick food since I moved back in, and in all the years I've lived here I've never once seen this, even if I know he is a capable cook when he tries thanks to the meals he served us as children.

"Do you want the truth?" He says, hostility in his voice that I recognise immediately as defensiveness. "I made this when I first started work, because sometimes I'd come home feeling so tired I wouldn't be able to put together a meal. It worked, and then your brother died and now I look at it and can't be bothered to even care anymore."

I stare at him, feeling intensely guilty for daring to ask what it was. I should have just ignored it and pretended it didn't exist.

"Do you know _why_?" He presses, and I shake my head slowly. He re-opens the binder and flicks to the back, shoving it in my direction. I am confronted with Sasuke's handwriting this time, messy and scrawled across the page in a barely legible fashion that is so familiar. It is the complete opposite of Madara's neat script on the earlier pages. "He caught me with this one day and offered to help me add to it."

He doesn't say any more and he doesn't need to either. I understand. It was theirs- it belonged to them, and now it belongs to only Madara and he's lost without the other half. I feel a sharp stab of sympathy, passing the binder back to him.

"I'm sorry," I tell him softly. I'm not sure what I'm apologising for, but it makes me feel better to do so.

"For what?" He says sharply, and presumably rhetorically since he continues. "Just remember this, Itachi- there is no right or wrong way to grieve. If someone were to tell me I don't miss my nephew because I'm not an emotional mess like you are then I'd be very angry. On the same note if someone tells you that you need to move on faster, I'll kill them."

He stalks from the room with the binder in hand, leaving me to stare after him and wonder what on earth just happened, and why I want to cry because of it.

-.-.-

The rest of the working week passes with little incident. Madara goes back to his usual self, making my life at work a misery and forcing me to hide from him in Deidara's cubicle at one point. He, of course, knew where I was and came to fetch me with the awe-inspiring words of 'if you don't get back to your desk in the next two minutes I'm going to fucking fire you.' I retaliated with the much-less hostile 'stop talking to me then, I hate you and everything you represent'- well, perhaps it _was_ equally hostile- and giving him my best glare. It ended in Deidara chanting 'fight, fight, fight!' at us, leaving Madara to drag me back to the office by my arm.

The argument was ridiculous, too. He made an offhanded comment about Kisame and how I was clearly moping around without his company, and I snapped at him thanks to far too little coffee and sleep trying my patience. He took that to mean he was right and smirked in that infuriatingly smug way that instantly ignited the rest of my usually docile temper.

In all of this drama and general working life, I don't think of Sasuke often. I am slowly coming to accept that this isn't because I love him any less, but it is because I am moving forward. There is no reason why Sasuke can't journey forward with me, alive in memory. I find myself thinking of Kisame a fair amount, wondering which part of the world he's in or if he's thinking of me too.

Saturday morning gives me an answer. It has been almost a week since he left, and I awaken to Madara throwing something at me. It's a postcard- Madara is already gone, stalking out the room without a word, leaving me to sit up with a confused frown until it occurs to me that there is only one person who would send a postcard to me at this address.

It is indeed from Kisame, date stamped from Portugal. The picture is of a stunning beach landscape, with the country name emblazoned in fancy font across the centre of it. Kisame's striking handwriting is instantly recognisable on the back, leaving me to smile softly at the sight of it.

_'Dear Itachi,_

_We're off on a Caribbean cruise this month, and the first stop is Portugal. It's sunny, but not very warm unfortunately- however, I know you aren't interested in the weather so I'll get right down to business. I'm going to be sending you a postcard from every location with a question on each. I want the answers when I return!_

_First question: Where in the world would you most like to visit?_

_Kisame'_

I stare at the card blankly for a moment, narrowing my eyes in confusion before finally setting it aside. I have no idea how to answer his question, since travelling isn't something I like to do much. It is something he enjoys though, so I tell myself I'm going to think it over so I have an answer for him. I venture downstairs for breakfast, wondering to myself what other questions Kisame would possibly want to ask me, coming face to face with Madara in the hall as I do so.

"I'm out today," he says. "How about you?"

"I have no plans," I shrug. Things have been a touch strained between us since in the working world we clash badly, and we've spent a lot of time together trying to clear the backlog created in my absence. However despite this being the old norm for us I dislike it, and I want to clear the air.

I follow Madara out to the porch where he was headed, leaning back against the wall by the front door as he lights a cigarette. He hesitates and offers it to me instead, so I accept with a small smile and let him light another for himself.

"You know, I hate fighting with you these days," I say quietly. "You're the only family I have left."

"We clash," Madara states bluntly. "That's all. It's just work- it doesn't mean anything outside of that."

"Then why are you so agitated with me?"

Madara hesitates and looks mildly uncomfortable, not meeting my eye as he takes a long inhale from his cigarette. He exhales heavily, staring up at the cloudy sky as he does so. "I'm not agitated with you," he admits.

"Then what is it?"

"I forgot my brother's birthday."

I narrow my eyes- this revelation was unexpected. I stay silent, hoping he will elaborate. He grants me this wish.

"It was February 10th, but with everything that's been going on I completely forgot about it," Madara continues. "I usually go out for a drink to celebrate the day and pay a visit to the cemetery."

"There's no reason you can't do those things now," I attempt to comfort, but he shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively at me.

"It's not the same," he sighs, and I know he's right. If it had been me in his shoes I would be feeling awful too. "I know he's dead and he doesn't give a shit if I remember or not, but I care."

I have no words to say that can help. I smoke my cigarette and he smokes his, both of us looking up at the sky that looks like it is threatening rain, deep in thought.

"Where are you going today?" I ask quietly, even though I think I know the answer.

"The cemetery and for a drink," he says with a shrug. "It's not the same like I said, but late is better than never."

Part of me desperately wants to offer my company to him but I don't. I don't think I can handle a playground of death right now, and I also get the impression this is a private ceremony of his since I had no prior knowledge that he does it.

"Don't wait up," he says as he throws his cigarette down, stepping on it lightly before making his way to the car. I head inside, not wishing to watch him depart to be alone knowing what he's doing. Kisame has taught me that dealing with such things alone is an awful thing indeed.

I spend my day catching up paperwork I brought home with me, thankful that it is the last of the backlog that needs to be cleared. Monday will once again be a normal day, hopefully with less frayed tempers on my uncle's behalf and more patience on mine. Despite his words not to wait up I find myself doing so, sitting up in bed reading a book to keep myself alert. At one am I finally hear the door downstairs open, admitting Madara into the house. When he finally makes his way upstairs I can smell alcohol on him the moment he enters the room. We lock eyes- his are just as tired as mine, and to look at him you would think we were equally sober.

"I told you not to wait up," he scolds, and the slur in his voice gives him away. It's mild, but it's there. I nod and flick the light out to lay down, feeling like I have intruded somehow as he collapses into his own bed. It unnerves me to see him so mortal- he is my uncle, he is one of my pillars as much as I hate to admit it, and he is hurting. He doesn't say it nor does he show it, but he is, and I despise it.

-.-.-

I receive two postcards in the following week. The first comes on Wednesday from Antigua and Barbuda, with the question 'where do you see yourself five years from now?', and the second comes on Friday from sunny Saint Lucia bearing the words 'describe yourself in five words'.

Both questions leave me in a mild state of confusion, along with the first still doing so. I decide to take it up with Deidara over lunch at work on Friday, putting the cards on the table in front of us with a frustrated sigh and preparing myself to say goodbye to my dignity.

"Kisame is asking me questions," I explain. "And I have no idea how to answer them."

"Questions?" Deidara repeats, picking one of the cards up and reading it. He chuckles to himself, finally bursting out into unsuppressed laughter when he reads the first of the three. "Itachi," he gasps. "These are like... _Really_ common dating questions. He's scoping you out, yeah. He wants to fuck you."

"He does _not_ want to fuck me," I sigh. "Could you be more constructive?"

"Okay," he says slowly. "He wishes to make love to you."

I glare at him and snatch the card from his hand. "_Deidara_, help me here. Does he like me? Is that what he's saying?"

"That's exactly what I just said!"

"You did not."

"I did, yeah! I think you're in with a shot of getting laid here."

"Deidara, unlike yourself I don't _care_ for just getting 'laid' by attractive men. If that's what you truly think his intention is then I am not interested."

"He likes you," Deidara relents, apparently not noticing the hidden jab in my retort to his sexuality. "He's asking you questions you ask someone you're interested in dating. All you need to do it answer him truthfully and if something clicks between you then bang- you got yourself a boyfriend."

He takes the cards from me and sets all three down on the table, writing facing upwards. He points to the Saint Lucia one first, nodding at it. "That one's easy. Boring, boring, boring, boring and _boring_."

"Thank you for the help."

"Alright, you can trade one of those at for 'sarcastic' if you want, yeah."

"How about we trade one for murderous too?" I intone, glaring at him. "You're supposed to be helping me."

"Why do answers have to be clear cut?" He sighs instead.

He has a point. He swipes that card aside, pointing to the Antigua and Barbuda one this time and looking at me expectantly.

"I don't know where I want to be in six months," I say truthfully. "How am I supposed to know where I want to be in five years?"

"You know the right answer to this," he says slyly. "You tell him you want to be in his bed, yeah."

"Deidara!"

"Alright, alright!" He sulks, pouting lightly at me. "Do you want Madara's job?"

"Not really."

"Nagato's?"

"Definitely not."

"Would you rather be at University?"

I pause on that one before finally sighing and nodding. "I suppose. But that isn't where I see myself- it's where I _want_ to see myself."

"Talk about this with him!" Deidara says, rolling his eyes and pushing the cards back across to me. "These questions are _designed_ to be talked about so you learn stuff about each other, yeah. What's he going to learn if you go in there with answers written down on index cards ready for him?"

He has a point. I begrudgingly accept this, putting the cards away and sighing heavily as I lean on the table with my elbows. He grins at me and leans towards me, lowering his voice slightly.

"I _knew_ you fancied him," he says smugly, in a manner that instantly reminds me of Sasuke. It's for that reason alone that I fix him with a weak smile and demand he buys me coffee to get him out of my sight momentarily, which he does willingly.

"So, come on," he says when he comes back. "Spill it, yeah. What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing."

"What do you _want_ to be going on?"

Apparently he is unrepentant. I, however, am feeling quite vicious. I give him a small smile and lean over to him, beckoning for his ear. He gives it, eyes wide with the expectation of gossip about my love life.

"He's the Captain of his cruise ship," I say breezily. "So do you know what I want?"

He shakes his head, looking almost breathless in anticipation.

"I want to go to his cabin and have him dress up in his uniform, and then have him pin me to the bed while I call him Captain and he undresses me," I say, feeling slightly ashamed of my words. I hide this, and Deidara's expression makes it _completely_ worth it. He's enraptured, wide eyed and waiting for me to continue. I go for the kill, smirking as I do so. "Just like you want Sasori to do to you, right? You want him to strip you down and pin you to the bed-"

He pulls away from me like he's been slapped, staring at me with huge eyes and reddened cheeks. "Itachi!" He exclaims. "What the hell!"

"Forgive me," I say as innocently as I can manage. "Did I say something wrong?"

He's still staring at me until his eyes finally stray across the room, landing on the redhead in question. He's eating lunch and chatting with some other people, not even glancing in our direction. Deidara's eyes stay there for just a fraction too long, and I can tell I've embarrassed him. Success.

"I have to go," he says hurriedly, almost falling over himself in his haste to leave the table and get out of the door. I feel slightly cruel as he falls through the doors of the cafeteria out of sight, but I also have to allow myself a moment to chuckle at my coyness.

It's a couple of minutes later when I'm sipping my coffee that I realise that actually, the fantasy I vocalised sounds like quite a nice one after all. The thought stops me in my tracks and I am the one to flee this time in search of my desk, where I can work and put it out of my mind before it runs away with itself.

Madara knows me well and he can sense that I'm slightly flustered when I arrive back in the office. He takes one look at me and smirks, raising an eyebrow.

"Having some naughty thoughts about Kisame, were you?" He teases, unaware that he is absolutely right. My scarlet cheeks at his words only confirm his suspicions, leaving him to chuckle lightly in an unsettling way and point past my shoulder to the door I've just come in. "Do you need a few minutes?" He presses. "The bathroom's just down the hall if it's all a bit much, if you know what I mean."

I do know what he means but it is crude and inappropriate, so I ignore him and make my way back to my desk. I need to spin this conversation around, and I know exactly how to do it.

"I'm moving back home this weekend," I tell him, keeping my tone smooth. The mirth in his eyes leaves immediately in favour of surprise, which he doesn't try to mask.

"Is that so? It's about time. Would you like me to pass on your sordid little postcards?"

"If you could, please," I agree, ignoring his jab at me. It's untrue anyway- if they were sordid, I'd be quite happy about it. It occurs to me in this moment that I, undoubtedly, have developed a startling attraction to Kisame and I am not ashamed to admit this anymore. Somehow it makes dealing with Sasuke's death just that little bit easier, since without it we wouldn't have met.

However, right now if someone gave me the option to choose between Sasuke being alive and therefore not meeting Kisame and my current life, I would choose Sasuke without a shadow of a doubt, and perhaps I always will. It is a twisted Sophie's Choice, and it is one I am thankful I will never have to make. This doesn't mean Kisame isn't important to me, because he is, but simply that I miss my brother terribly despite all the positive developments going on in my life and would always give anything if it meant having him back by my side.

"Itachi," Madara calls, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Stop daydreaming and get on with some work."

I am quite happy to do so, considering the track my thoughts were taking. I don't want to walk down such a depressing path, especially not when I am at work. Uchiha Itachi the businessman and Uchiha Itachi the grieving brother are two separate entities, and I wish to try and keep them that way.

-.-.-

Kisame seems to have heard my wish for more personal questions, since the next two postcards that arrive from Netherlands Antilles and Honduras begin to border so. They say 'what do you look for in a partner?' and 'what are you most attracted to when you first look at a person?'

Directly, he hasn't said anything that indicates he is interested in a relationship with me, but indirectly he is beginning to hint as much. It gives me hope that when he returns and we discuss the possibility of a relationship, as he promised, that things will be positive.

What isn't positive, however, is the mood I awaken in on Monday morning after spending my first night alone back at my place. It was a trying evening spent attempting to ignore Sasuke's lack of presence, which led to me not sleeping well and feeling even worse in the morning. By the time I leave for work I am thoroughly aware I have zero patience and am going to be snappy and uncouth today, but I am determined to just stay out of people's way and hopefully I can make do.

Unfortunately it is impossible to stay out of Madara's way when I have to share a train with him. He eyes me critically when he sits next to me and earns himself my sharpest glare in response.

"It didn't go well I take it?" He asks, presumably referring to my first night alone. I ignore him, unwilling to engage him in conversation about it. "Fine," he sighs. "It's like that, is it? Would you like to just go home instead?"

"Of course not," I snap at him, because going home to my overwhelmingly empty apartment is precisely what I don't need right now. This is probably why he suggested it, knowing my uncle and his lack of tact.

Madara apparently knows when not to push things, so the morning passes with little incident. My mood hasn't improved much but I am throwing myself into my work in an attempt to avoid taking it out on anybody else. For reasons unbeknownst to myself my uncle seems happy enough to avoid talking to me, until about two pm in the afternoon when he changes his mind. He seats himself on the edge of my desk, looking at me expectantly until I glance his way with a raised eyebrow.

"So," he says shortly. "My presumption is you went home, realised how empty it is without Sasuke, and have spent the subsequent hours after sulking about this fact."

"_Sulking_?" I say incredulously, but he speaks over me.

"Sort the rest of his things out, get rid of the rest of it and start thinking of it as _your_ home, not you and Sasuke's. Sasuke is dead-"

"Which I am aware of, thank you."

"-just shut up and listen to me, Itachi. Sasuke is dead, and your future now involves living there alone, or moving in with Kisame, or whatever you want. Just because his things are there does not mean that he is, and just because you want him to be so doesn't mean he's coming back."

"Why are you saying this?" I ask him, my tone harsh. I don't want to hear this right now. I _know_ all of this.

"Sometimes we need a dose of reality," Madara says in a manner that suggests he knows this from experience. "Moving back home is bound to have unsettled you, so I'm just straightening things out to save you the trouble of trying to do so. It's good that you've done it though- living without him is the easiest way to remember he isn't there."

"I haven't forgotten he isn't here," I hiss at him. "Now leave me alone and let me get on with my work."

"You've spent the past month or so living with me," Madara points out. I resist the childish urge to roll my eyes and snap a witty comment about his observant nature. "In doing so, life changed for you because you were able to avoid Sasuke. You lit the candles when _you_ wanted, you spoke to Kisame or I when _you_ wanted to- you didn't face him unless it was on your terms. You went home last night and you were faced with him without your consent. I'm not even going to pretend I don't know how hard that is, because I do, and that's why I'm sitting here talking to you while you look at me like I'm an asshole and you'd rather I fucked off and let you push it out of your mind again."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" I ask curtly. I don't show it but his words are beginning to take effect on me because he's _right_.

"Do you want me to be honest?"

"Please."

"You lost your brother and I lost my nephew," Madara states. "In technicality you could say he, and you, are like my sons. I am still quite capable of walking into his bedroom, taking the items I want from it, and throwing the rest in a skip."

The very idea of this takes my breath away. "We are different," I tell him sharply. "Everybody grieves differently- you said that yourself."

"Of course," he confirms. "What I'm saying is, some things are healthy and some things aren't. Moving back home? Healthy. Getting out of the habit of going to the cathedral all the time to grieve? Healthy. Deliberate avoidance of things to do with Sasuke such as hiding photographs and hoarding his things? Unhealthy." He leans closer to me, lowering his voice despite the office being empty except for him and I. "You skipped breakfast."

It isn't a question. It is a statement, and I loathe to tell him that he is right. I say nothing, so he continues as if I have said yes.

"Skipping meals and not taking care of yourself when alone? Unhealthy."

I don't care what he thinks is healthy or unhealthy at this point, and I throw my stapler at him in an effort to portray this. In retrospect I don't think it was such a great idea, but it silenced him- that was what I want, so I suppose it succeeded.

"Get off my desk and let me work," I command with authority I don't have and strictness I don't feel.

"Throwing inanimate objects at people- unhealthy," he chides, though there's a small smirk on his face that indicates he's now making a joke out of the theme. It isn't very funny. "There are kinder ways of telling me to get lost, Itachi."

"I've told you to leave me alone twice now."

He ignores me again, of course. "Sometimes you're going to be confronted with Sasuke when you aren't prepared for it," he warns me. "If would be in your best interests to prepare yourself for the eventuality so you are able to deal with it in that stoic, stuck up manner of yours you cling to so much."

"I learnt it from you," I reply haughtily.

"Well, learn this from me as well then." He places his hands on my desk and leans closer to me again, narrowing his eyes sharply. "You've come so far- don't slip back down now. Sasuke is dead, and continues to be dead, and will always be dead. Your future involves just you and me, a place here in Uchiha Corporation unless you manage to get a university scholarship of some kind, and a possible relationship with Kisame that may or may not work out. That is reality. The future does not involve Sasuke, because Sasuke's future ended in December last year. Are we clear?"

Despite Madara's words being nothing new they still sting in ways I hadn't expected, along with my eyes much to my dismay. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of upsetting me so I glare at him and vacate the room before he can continue, not sparing him a glance so I don't have to see his smug face.

I'm not entirely sure why I choose to flee to Deidara, since the man has been actively avoiding any and all conversation about Sasuke save for one tiny lapse on my doorstep. It's where I find myself though, panting with the excursion of running from the office. He glances up at me in surprise, speaking into the headset over his ears to a customer. His voice doesn't change- the mark of a professional- as he beckons me into his cubicle. It's tiny, as such things are, but he slides his chair out of the way so I can step past him and sink down to the floor and bring my knees up to my chest. He eyes me in concern as he carries on talking, and I give him the leniency to do so by not meeting his gaze.

"-your call is appreciated," Deidara parrots in true scripted fashion. "Uchiha Corporation thanks you for your patronage. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Deidara works in a completely different world to me. This room is a large cube farm, teaming with voices and life as calls are answered and business is made. There are a couple hundred people in the room easily which leaves it hot and slightly stuffy despite the cold air outside. I can hear other nearby conversations, mostly business, but mingled with the occasional hint of gossip. This type of working environment is almost incestuous in nature, where everybody knows everybody and those who aren't sleeping with one another want to be. This is not a generalisation- I get told everything by Deidara, whether I want to hear it or not, and the majority of this room could be filed under the heading of 'sexual tension'. Even Deidara suffers from this, since he sits across the aisle from Sasori- temptation within arm's reach, even if my friend refuses to admit this.

Deidara slips the headset off once the call is finished, eyes narrowed slightly in concern as he leans down to whisper to me. "What's going on?"

"Madara," I say simply. Deidara nods- it's amazing that I don't even have to elaborate and he understands. "Can I just stay here for a while?"

He shrugs, unconcerned. "If you want. That bad, huh?"

"Something like that," I mutter.

He takes another call, spinning his chair around so he isn't looking at me. I'm thankful for this since moments later I have my head buried in my knees, curling them tighter to my chest while I try not to fall to pieces. Uchiha Itachi, business man, does not allow his personal life to interfere with his work. Deidara doesn't even turn to me- not that I expected him, since he's working and Madara doesn't pay him to give pep talks.

Even though Madara has once again chosen the least compassionate route to prove it, his words are true. Going back home and being confronted with Sasuke is what's put me on edge and disturbed me, and is also the main benefactor of my bad mood. I just wish he could choose a way of saying these things without snapping my composure in half, but then it probably wouldn't have as much effect if he did.

An uneasy hush settles over the room- people lower their voices, the gossiping stops, and I just know it's because my dear uncle has made an appearance. He rarely 'mingles with the cattle' as he so rudely states, but I know why he is here. When he appears at Deidara's cubicle he indicates that Deidara move out of the way so he can see me better, giving me vital moments to straighten my back and pull my legs down so I'm sitting on my knees instead.

He waits. Deidara looks awkwardly between us, his voice never changing as he continues his call. Madara respects business, so he nonchalantly leans against Deidara's flimsy looking desk and folds his arms with a soft sigh, closing his eyes. Patience has never been his strong point, but he will suffer it seems.

"Thank you for your patronage," Deidara says into the headset. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

He looks almost disappointed when the answer is apparently no, since he disconnects the call and slowly lifts his headset off. Madara helps him by taking it and setting it aside, giving Deidara a neutral glance.

"Take a break," he suggests.

Deidara doesn't need telling twice, vanishing to who-knows-where and leaving me alone with my uncle. Madara sits in Deidara's blue swivel office chair and crosses one leg over the other- the epitome of elegance, while I am seated on the floor glaring at him sharply and looking most likely uncivilised in comparison. The room is still far too quiet for a cubicle farm call centre. Madara seems to know this, since he speaks intentionally loudly to begin with.

"If you can hear this then you aren't concentrating hard enough," he scolds to the eavesdroppers, before turning to me. "So, are you going to tell me why you're hiding in Deidara's workspace?"

"It's a cubicle," I scold. Madara refuses to call them as such because he feels 'workspace' is more positive description. Considering he will usually call a spade a spade, I find this quite laughable and never hesitate to point this out.

"No," he disagrees. "I believe a cubicle is something you find in a bathroom."

Technically he's correct, but if I agree then he will have won. I glare at him instead- a perfectly suitable response from one Uchiha to another. I have nothing to say because I have no intentions of answering his question, because he knows the answer already and I refuse to waste my time reiterating the obvious.

"Why are you here?"

He is more direct this time, but that doesn't mean I'm going to answer him.

"Let me guess- you ran away because you didn't like what I was telling you," he sighs. "Here's another reality check, Itachi- life is unfair."

"Agreed. That doesn't mean I need to be reminded of this in the middle of the working day."

"Why does it matter that you're at work?" Madara muses. "Every single person in this room is human, you and I included. Being human means having feelings, both negative and positive."

"I'm not being paid to mope about at my desk."

"No, you're being paid to be productive. What's more productive- taking a ten minute break to get some grief out of your system and move on, or spending a whole day with pent up emotions that distract you?"

"You would have a valid point if I was letting my personal life interfere with my work, but I'm not."

"Ah, but you are," Madara points out. "This right now- this could be prevented if you'd got on the train this morning and said 'Madara, I had a bad time adjusting to going home' and told me about it. You'd have felt better. Surely Kisame has taught you this?"

He pauses, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled postcard, tossing it down next to me. I pick it up and glance over it, reading the question on it. 'Why haven't your past relationships worked out?' it says. I want to laugh at that, putting it in my own pocket and attempting to ignore it for now. I have other things to think about and I don't wish to add Kisame to the equation.

"I can answer that question," he says. "Your past relationships didn't work out because..." He pauses, purely for dramatic effect since we both know what he's about to say. "Oh that's right. You haven't had any meaningful relationships because you spent all your time working to support Sasuke and before you say it, fucking someone you met in a club and not calling them back does _not_ constitute a 'relationship'."

My string of casual hook-ups lasted approximately four months. It is four months I have come to regret, mostly because Deidara and Madara never shut up about it. "Says the man without a partner," I say spitefully. He simply raises an eyebrow and brushes the comment aside- Madara loves his career and doesn't care for relationships, so it doesn't hurt like I intended it to.

"I don't pay you to sit around in someone else's workspace and brood," he snaps at me, losing his patience slightly. "Get back to work."

He leaves me with that demand. I wait for him to leave the room, noticeable by the chatter around me instantly sparking to life once more and now rife with my own name, before pulling myself to my feet. I meet Deidara halfway across the room as he makes his way back to his desk, presumably on order by Madara to do so. He looks sombre, narrowing his eyes in concern and pausing at my side.

"Is everything alright?" He asks with more concern than I had expected. For some reason this of all things is what threatens to break me the most, and I close my eyes and shake my head.

"No," I tell him truthfully, my voice choked. I'm tired. I'm tired physically, plus I'm tired of fighting against the ghost of Sasuke- struggling to keep him alive in memory yet distant enough so that I can function.

"Is there anything I can do?" Deidara says, lowering his voice and putting one hand on my arm.

"Are you familiar with any resurrection techniques?" I say. The words should be a joke but they aren't- in that moment they are very, very real. Deidara looks downcast, finally shaking his head when he realises I might have actually been expecting an answer.

I don't have to look to know that every set of eyes in the room is on me, even if the other occupants of the room are talking to customers. Just like Deidara they are able to keep their voices neutral yet be paying attention to my plight in astonishing detail. I am not liked in these parts by most so I'm sure witnessing me moments from having a breakdown is satisfying for them.

"Itachi..." Deidara finally sighs, unable to continue as he draws my name out in what sounds like a sympathetic manner. "I don't know what to say to you, yeah."

For some reason, this is the most comforting thing he's ever said to me. "Thank you," I reply, ignoring his confused face before finally fleeing the room with what little is left of my dignity.


	10. Chapter 9

**9.**

I don't return to work. I end up on the steps outside the corporate building with a packet of Silk Cut and a coffee from a nearby cafe. At that moment I don't care that Madara could technically fire me for this infraction- I don't care that I'm probably contracting lung cancer, I don't care about the negative effects of caffeine and I certainly don't care about my job. Madara can fuck himself and his job and his inability to be _wrong_ about things that matter so much to me.

"Itachi."

And of course he just has to be standing behind me, and I am not controlled enough to restrain speaking my mind. In case I wasn't already in danger of losing my job, I apparently wish to seal the deal. "Go and fuck yourself, Madara."

"My, my," he sighs as he settles down next to me on the step. "Such language. I raised you to be more polite. Why are you angry?"

I want to say 'because you're a jackass', but that probably isn't helpful. He knows why I'm angry. Asking me is an insult.

"You didn't raise me," I say instead, knowing it's malicious but caring very little. "You just happened to live in the same house as two children who co-existed around you."

He shrugs at this observation. "I suppose that holds some truth, but you have a clouded memory. Who cooked for you? Who threatened to beat the shit out of the guy who was letting his kids bully you?"

"Such stellar parenting," I remark blithely as I flick ash off of my cigarette. "And you wonder how Sasuke ended up in so many fights, with you threatening violence to other people yourself as a solution to a problem."

"Sasuke ended up in fights because he was hot headed, brash and unable to consider that he could be wrong in a situation. Besides, you said 'parenting'- I'm not your father."

"Thankfully."

He studies me for a moment, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You can be an arrogant little brat when you want to be," he observes.

"I am an Uchiha," I remind him. "It is inherent, surely?"

For some reason this exchange breaks the tense atmosphere slightly. Madara studies me for a moment before sighing and beckoning for me to look at him. I reluctantly do so, feeling my anger drain from me as our eyes connect.

"This entire thing has been blown completely out of proportion," he says. He's right- we both know this. "You know I don't deliver my words in compassionate ways, but everything I say I say for a reason. Let's put this behind us and get back to work, alright?"

He stands up and heads inside the building, leaving me to follow a couple of minutes later. I do so, aware that if I were any other person I wouldn't have a job to go back to. Madara is back at his desk when I enter the office almost sheepishly, sitting down and ignoring his gaze in favour of my work. All I want to do is lie my head on my desk and go to sleep, and perhaps venture into a dream-world where Sasuke is safe by my side.

I make the mistake of letting the thought run away with itself, imagining all the things we could do if he were alive, when the sound of the phone ringing in the office snaps me back to reality. Madara answers it, leaving me to close my eyes and try to ignore the ache in my chest. Sasuke isn't here, will never be here again, and in that moment the thought encompasses my entire being and stings so harshly I feel like I have been teleported back to the moment I heard the news.

Madara is a true professional- he wouldn't be the CEO of this company if he wasn't. However even he pauses in his speech for a moment when I give up the fight and lay my arms across the desk, burying my head in them and allowing myself to just cry. He recovers quickly and continues his conversation, though he ends it swiftly. He says and does nothing. He gets on with his own work, leaving me until I have calmed down enough to face the world again. When I feel that this is possible I collect myself and re-arrange papers on my desk, feeling both shamed and relieved that I have managed to release some of the tension I have been holding.

"Twelve minutes," Madara states offhandedly when I finish rearranging papers and actually begin to get back on with some work. "I said it would take ten earlier, but I suppose twelve is close enough."

Despite my mood I can't help but smirk at that. One of these days he's going to be _wrong_ about something, and I am going to enjoy rubbing that right in his face.

-.-.-

After a few days of getting used to living back home again I am surprised to find my mood is lighter. I somehow managed to summon the courage to remove anything of Sasuke's from the living room, getting rid of the things in the kitchen he ate and I didn't and finally throwing out his toiletries in the bathroom. What remains is a home that is purely mine, with one room that is Sasuke's. It makes living there much easier and I have managed to stave off the guilt I thought I would feel for this decision.

For once, I have something more pressing on my mind. This is unusual but welcomed considering my mental state lately, but also immensely frustrating because that something is Madara withholding the postcards Kisame is sending. I should have known he would pull something like this, and it leads me spending my Saturday driving to his place so I can subtly beg for them in a manner that doesn't actually sound like begging.

He answers the door to me, blinks in surprise then chuckles before stepping aside to let me in. The house feels like home when I step inside still, but it seems Madara has been redecorating somewhere because I can smell paint.

"What are you painting?"

"I'm getting rid of that monstrous colour in the bathroom," he says with a heavy sigh.

"You mean aqua?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Precisely. It's horrific. It tries to be blue and it tries to be green and it's neither."

"I never knew you were so pedantic about such petty things," I chide lightly.

"Deidara is on the job," he says, completely ignoring my jab. As if on cue, Deidara pokes his head round the corner of the bathroom at the end of the hall and waves to me.

"Hey!" He calls, giving me a grin. He has blue paint on one of his cheeks and small splatters of it on his clothes, which look intentionally worn for such a job.

"Deidara," I greet, walking towards him. I hadn't bargained on having an audience when I throw my dignity away to request the postcards. Hopefully he'll pass out from paint fumes or something equally convenient and therefore not overhear my request.

"So you're painting over aqua with blue?" I ask, amused, as I observe what Deidara has been up to.

"Your uncle's orders," Deidara shrugs. "He said 'if aqua can't make its mind up, he'll do it for it'. It's any excuse to get some paint out for me, yeah."

Deidara is an artist. He carries around a sketchbook and can often be seen with it outside of work hours- and sometimes within them, if he thinks he can get away with it. This is how he first struck up a conversation with Sasori, who noticed him spending his coffee break furiously scribbling away and commented that he was also an artist. Deidara was delighted to find out this titbit of information until he discovered they have conflicting views about what constitutes art. It led to a fight, and Deidara spending well over an hour complaining to me about how wrong Sasori was and boring me to near tears. I know nothing about art, nor do I wish to know anything about it, but there's no telling Deidara this sometimes.

"So what are you getting out of this, apart from the opportunity to paint?" I ask conversationally, leaning against the doorframe after checking I am not going to get covered in paint for doing so.

"Do I need anything else?" He asks, looking bemused. I forgot- this is Deidara. If he has a paintbrush in his hand, he truly is happy. His grin turns wicked as he lowers his voice. "And you know what? I'm going to add my own touch to this room when the blue's dry, yeah."

I make the instant decision to stick around for the afternoon. Deidara's 'artistic touches' are usually inappropriate and comical. I'm surprised he has kept his job considering the things he has done. Once he decorated his cubicle with hundreds of stickers- there wasn't a clear space free by the time he was done, sticker after sticker overlapping and overlaying one another in what I admit was a very impressive masterpiece.

Madara, however, was much less impressed. Whilst he was giving Deidara a disapproving speech for his conduct, the man in question was mournfully pointing out that he didn't _want_ to remove them because he'd paid good money for 'that huge one of a bird, yeah, and that sparkly sticker of a spider as well, that's pretty cool too can I leave that one up?'. Madara grew more and more annoyed while Deidara cast me wounded looks that suggested he wanted me to stick up for him, since I had been dragged along for the scolding as I often am with such matters. I, unfortunately, knew that I was supposed to be looking stern but Deidara's pitiful looks and sincere complaints about _stickers_ of all things had me struggling not to laugh.

"Itachi," Madara had snapped sharply in an effort to get me to look unperturbed. Deidara, the bastard, seemed to realise he was destroying any semblance of authority I had and promptly pounced straight on it.

"Help me!" He pleaded, pointing to his sticker mural. "At least let me keep the snake! Look at it, it curls right the way round the edge of the wall and I looked through _so many_ stickers to get one that would, yeah-"

He had to remove every single one by hand. Madara eventually stalked off in disgust with a demand for me to help Deidara, leaving me to finally laugh at the absurd situation. Deidara glared at me, berating me for being 'as helpful as throwing a drowning man both ends of a rope', which only made me laugh harder. He berated me further, I was unable to give him a facial expression through my mirth that said 'I know I'm supposed to be helping you but I'm struggling not to wet myself laughing', and thus he ended up yelling at me and the entire thing became my fault somehow. I still don't quite know how he came to that conclusion.

"So what can I do for you, Itachi?" Madara calls from the kitchen to my right, so I give Deidara a quick goodbye and head out to see him. He's already holding two postcards up in the air, a small grin on his face. "Is it these?"

I hold my hand out, giving him an unimpressed glare. He shakes his head, amusement in his eyes.

"Oh no," he replies. "I have to say, these questions are getting awfully personal. Are you sure you aren't considering a relationship with this man?"

"I might be," I say evenly. "Hand them over, Madara."

"Question one, hailing from Jamaica" he declares, raising his voice enough that there is no doubt that Deidara can hear. "'What turns you on?'"

"You're making that up," I hiss. There is no way Kisame would ask such a thing! He has been ambiguous so far and never so direct.

"Question two," Madara says, ignoring me. "This postcard comes from the Virgin Islands, which is relevant because he makes a little joke about it. It says 'I'm going to presume you aren't a virgin'- Itachi, he's calling you a whore you know- 'so what age did you lose your virginity with both genders?'"

He finally hands the cards over to me. I snatch them and ignore Deidara's laughter in the background, glancing over them to find Madara was actually telling the truth. It leaves me feeling quite taken aback- presumably whatever thinking Kisame has been doing about a possible relationship with me, it must have been positive.

"So do tell," Madara pushes airily. "What age _did_ you-"

"None of your business," I snap back immediately, knowing what he planned to ask. My heart is pounding at this latest revelation, since during the time Kisame has been gone I have decided that I would like to enter a relationship with him but never once dared to think he might feel the same way.

"I'm going out for an hour," Madara says with a smirk. "Don't destroy my house while I'm gone, Deidara!"

With that call he leaves, slamming the front door behind him. Deidara immediately shouts for me, grinning like a lunatic and beckoning to me as he opens the small cupboard under the cabinet sink. Inside he has another tin of paint, conveniently named 'goldfish', that gives me an immediate hint of what he has planned.

"Remember that sticker mural I put up that Madara made me take down again?" He says, looking a touch bitter before glaring at me. "You could have helped me about that, yeah. You _abandoned_ me."

"What did you want me to do- tell Madara to let you leave it? He's my boss too," I say defensively.

"And you could get away with murder! Anyway- I'm going to do a similar thing with this wall," he says, tapping the wall next to him. "I'm going to paint goldfish on it, and you're going to help me to make up for the sticker incident."

"Me? I can't paint."

"That's half the fun, yeah."

The mischievous look on his face and my infuriating soft spot for this man has me holding a paintbrush only five minutes later, resigning myself to ruining my smart clothing as I observe Deidara freehand a perfect fish onto the wall. My uncle is actually going to kill us both for this. My attempt at a fish is clumsy and looks like something a five year old could be proud of. Deidara laughs at it quite happily, ignoring my mildly offended glare.

"Hey, Itachi?"

Deidara isn't looking at me when he speaks, concentrating just a little too hard on his stupid perfect fish. I get the feeling this conversation is going to be about either Kisame or Sasuke. The latter would surprise me, and surprise me he does.

"Remember your twenty first birthday?"

It wouldn't be surprising if I didn't. Sasuke and Deidara collaborated and dragged me to a nightclub- I have no idea how Sasuke managed to sneak in without getting asked for ID, which was how I was hoping the night would end so I could go home and relax like I had planned. Despite managing this feat he stayed away from alcohol- I was so proud of him for that, though much less proud of myself for actually drinking the things Deidara put in front of me. It led to dancing, flirting, _karaoke_ and a train ride home that is best forgotten.

"Vaguely," I say ambiguously. He smirks at that, finally glancing in my direction.

"You were trashed," he says helpfully.

"Indeed."

"Sasuke didn't touch any alcohol, yeah."

"I was proud of him, considering the temptation and the horrific example I was setting for him."

"Well to be fair, I was the one buying the drinks."

"And I was the one drinking them."

I want to ask him where he's heading with this but the conversation already feels quite fragile, so I let it take its natural course. Deidara is building up to something, and I am curious about what it is.

"You know... He told me he liked fish that night."

I almost drop my paintbrush, but collect myself and let him continue. Deidara looks wistful as he brushes orange strokes onto the wall, shaping another perfect fish without seemingly trying.

"I told him if he liked them so much I'd buy him a fish for his birthday this year," Deidara says quietly. He looks downcast, finally halting in his painting and laying the brush down on the newspaper scattered across the floor.

It seems I am not the only one who has days where they miss Sasuke, because Deidara is exhibiting the classic signs right now of doing so. He and my brother weren't close friends but they weren't unfriendly either- so far Deidara hasn't uttered a single word that would show he misses him. Even on the day of the funeral when he came to my place in the evening he stayed his usual cheery self, joking with me as I attempted to drink myself into a coma.

"How do you do it?" He asks, glancing across at me with wide, innocent eyes that immediately tug at my soul. Deidara is far too young and has clearly never experienced a loss before, which could account for why he has handled it with avoidance. He is only two years my junior but sometimes it really does show.

"Do what?" I ask quietly, not quite sure what he means.

"Cope," Deidara whispers. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I've been okay about your brother and all, yeah. It was upsetting when I first heard about it but we weren't close or anything, so it was easier to just... You know. Get on with life and stuff. But last night when I was trying to sleep I couldn't stop thinking about him. It really got to me, yeah."

I wish I had something comforting to say but I don't. I have no idea how to make somebody else feel better about something I'm still struggling with myself. So I simply carry on painting my fish and let Deidara speak, if that's what he needs to do.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to the funeral," he murmurs. "But I knew I couldn't handle it. It was selfish-"

"No it wasn't," I interrupt, unwilling to listen to him berate himself. "The human mind excels at self preservation. Nobody _wants_ to go to a funeral, because it hurts."

"Yeah but _you_ had to go, yeah."

"I didn't _have_ to- I chose to. You didn't miss much anyway," I say with a tiny smile, attempting to make a morbid joke to cheer him up. "Lots of crying, lots of people wearing black, lots of flowers."

"I felt really guilty when I saw the state of you that evening," he admits. "I couldn't help but think here I am, avoiding it because I don't want to make an ass of myself and cry in front of a load of people, and here's you."

"If I'm honest I remember very little about that evening," I say firmly, and I am being entirely truthful. Whiskey has a habit of erasing a person's memory when consumed in excessive quantities. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

Silence descends over us. Deidara picks up his paintbrush and continues painting a new fish so I turn my full concentration back to my own. I presume the conversation to be over, but a minute or so later Deidara speaks once more.

"I'd already made up my mind to vandalise this room somehow," he says. "And since I couldn't stop thinking about Sasuke last night, I decided to paint fish in his memory. Besides, Madara can't be angry then, right?"

"He could be," I shrug. "Sentimentality doesn't mean much to my uncle."

He doesn't reply, carrying on with his painting with just a little too much intensity. I keep half of my attention on him and half on my lopsided goldfish, feeling the tension in the air. The conversation is far from over but Deidara isn't speaking any more. I soon learn this is because he's struggling with his composure, silent tears on his cheeks as he paints lightly against the wall. He shifts so I can't see his face anymore a few moments later.

"You're allowed to be sad too you know," I tell him kindly.

"Yeah but he's your brother," Deidara argues, realising he's been caught and turning back to me. "He's _your_ brother and I'm the one crying, yeah. You don't think that's fucked up?"

"Of course not!"

"It's just an awkward position to be in," he admits, setting his paintbrush down again and drying at his cheeks. He smudges orange from his hand across them in doing so. "I don't feel like I have the right to feel upset, yeah. It's not like we were related or close friends or anything but he was _young_. It's not fucking fair, is it? He was only three years younger than me."

The least useful thing I could do right now is break down crying as well, but that doesn't stop it being the thing I want to do the most. Deidara is still staring at his orange-laden paintbrush, starting on another fish. I start another as well, trying to focus on that and not my own emotions.

"Sorry," he apologises quietly. "You don't need me to tell you how this feels, yeah."

I have to get out of this room. I am a useless friend when I can't even push aside my own feelings to help him with this. I lay down my paintbrush and stand, feeling my breathing constrict before I even reach the doorway.

"Do you want coffee?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral. "I'll make us some."

I'm aware I'm abandoning him and it makes me feel worse. I busy myself in the kitchen, unsurprised that I can barely spoon sugar with how much my hand is shaking.

Halfway through managing this I slam the spoon down on the side and stalk straight back to Deidara. In order for him to feel his grief is validated I have to show him that it's alright to be sad- it's one of the most vital rules of grieving and the only thing I remember about my parent's funeral. I had been standing with Sasuke at my side, attempting to be strong, when Madara had swept in and laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Cry," he'd said simply, gesturing to Sasuke. "If you don't, how is he going to think that he can?"

Technically Sasuke was too young to really understand what was going on- he was upset because he wanted his parents, not because they were dead. It isn't the same thing, but it gave me the permission I had been seeking.

"I'm sorry for running away," I tell him from the doorway. He looks up at me, pulling his face from his hands in surprise, scrambling off of the floor and attempting to straighten himself out and pretend that he's fine.

"No, I'm sorry for bringing this up," he apologises with a shrug that's supposed to look easygoing, but fails. "I'm just being stupid or something. How are your fish coming along?"

I am not someone who thrives on physical contact, but Deidara is. He's the type of guy who is happy to give someone a friendly hug, and will generally spend most of a drunken evening with one arm around anybody that's willing to allow it. For this reason I walk straight over to him and embrace him. He stiffens, clearly not expecting this action.

"Itachi?" He says questioningly when I don't let him go. He finally puts his arms around me in return, and we stand there for a minute or so wrapped up in each other. He has his head against my neck and I can feel the hot dampness of tears against it, which makes me feel less bad about returning the favour with his hair.

"I have no idea how you do it," he finally says as he pulls away, looking slightly sheepish. "One day of thinking about all this and I turn into a total pussy, yet you manage to keep on going, yeah."

"I have to," I tell him simply. "That's all there is to it."

He smiles despite his tear-filled eyes, kneeling down and picking up his paintbrush again. "Shall we paint some fishes?" He suggests, looking happier already. I give him a weak smile in return and copy his action, drying my cheeks and probably spreading orange across them like Deidara has done.

"That sounds marvellous," I agree. "But just so you know, you're taking the blame for this when Madara finds out."

When the front door clicks to indicate that Madara is home Deidara almost drops his brush in his haste to get up from the floor, racing past me to close and lock the door. Considering the front door is only a few steps away from the bathroom door he notices this, and raps on it moments later.

"What are you hiding?" He says suspiciously.

"Nothing!" Deidara calls in a faux-casual voice that gives him away immediately.

"Itachi?" He calls instead.

"We're just painting," I say lamely. Technically, it is true.

We don't hear any more from him so I assume we have won this round for now, breathing a sigh of relief and continuing with my excuse for a fish on the wall. My half of it looks terrible whereas Deidara's look incredible, as was to be expected. He's taken to painting reefs and coral above the skirting board, since he also picked up some tester pots of brighter colours for such a purpose.

"So when Kisame gets back are you going to seduce him?" Deidara asks, giving me a coy smile.

"I think he's going to seduce me," I say, already having decided to stop pretending that we aren't interested in each other. We clearly are, and all I need now is for him to come home so we can do something about it.

"It's not fair," he laments. "You need to come out on the town with me, yeah. I need a girlfriend."

"Is Sasori single?"

He throws his paint-covered brush at me, which I deflect with my arm. My smart black shirt is now coated in orange for the trouble- Deidara doesn't even look unrepentant, glaring at me instead.

"Jackass," he scolds. "I'm serious."

"Is it dark in the closet?" I ask airily. "Would you like a flashlight?"

"Just because _you_ like sucking guys off doesn't mean I want to, yeah."

He is usually so crude and never fails to embarrass me into silence. I put the finishing touches to my fish and inspect the wall, deciding to leave it as it is. Any more fish and it would begin to look crowded. It still looks as though a child has painted this half of the room, which Deidara helpfully comments on and confirms when he takes my paintbrush to 'tidy up' my creations.

He is in the middle of this when we hear a strange sound coming from the door. I realise after a moment that it's the unmistakable sound of someone removing the handle, flying over to unlock it immediately. Madara is kneeling on the floor, screwdriver poised in midair when I fling the door open.

"Move," he tells me, and I gladly step out of the way to let him see the chaos. Deidara turns and gives him a huge grin, indicating the wall happily.

"It's fish!" He says needlessly. Even though my goldfish aren't amazing they are still recognisable as such.

"It is indeed," Madara says before turning on his heel and walking out again. "I see you were in the middle of making coffee. Would you like me to finish that for you?"

Deidara exchanges a wary glance with me. "Aren't you annoyed, yeah?" He calls.

"It's apt," he calls back. "Do you want coffee or not?"

"Is he saying he _likes_ it?" Deidara asks me in disbelief.

"Apparently so," I agree, frowning in confusion. Even I had expected Madara's reaction to be fiery, yet he really does seem unbothered.

"Coffee- yes or no?" He calls back sharply. I venture out to the kitchen and confirm that we would like some, studying him intently for a moment.

"He wanted to paint fish because Sasuke likes them," I supply, just in case he is being silently angry.

"I know."

I blink a few times in confusion. "You know?"

"He always liked fish," Madara says with a shrug. "Don't you remember?"

Now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense to me- when we would go into pet stores to look at the animals he was always in the aquarium section. He practically begged Madara to take us to a sea life centre on his birthday once. For some reason I never once acquainted these actions with a fondness for fish, and it makes me feel terrible. I push the thought aside successfully- I mustn't beat myself up about the little things.

"You have paint on your shirt," he tells me. I scowl at him for pointing it out.

"Deidara threw a paintbrush at me."

"I'm sure you deserved it."

While Deidara and I take a coffee break Madara heads to inspect the damage. When we're done we find him on his knees, continuing Deidara's half-done coral border across the bottom of the wall.

"What?" He asks as we both stare at him in disbelief. He gestures with his pink-laden paintbrush to the wall. "It's my walls- aren't I allowed to add to it?"

Neither of us understand why he really cares until he reaches the edge of the wall, where there is a small empty corner. He takes the paintbrush and strikes 'For Sasuke' in the blank space with careful strokes, nodding in satisfaction and thrusting his brush into Deidara's hand.

"Finish up," he tells him, and Deidara is too dumbstruck to do anything but.

-.-.-

Kisame's postcards have what could be his intended effect on me, in that it leads me to do some soul searching. It is for this reason that I end up walking through the cold streets of the local town on Sunday morning, hands thrust deeply into my pockets and mind ablaze with thoughts. It has been a long time since I attended a service at the cathedral, but it feels apt. Kisame's postcards, when dissected like I have done, ask the most basic of questions. Who are you? What do you want out of life? What makes you happy, sad, angry, docile, _feel_?

The cathedral grounds are swimming with people as I make my way across to the entrance. Some are still clearly tourists, cameras in their hands and chatting away in foreign tones and dialects, while others ignore them and head straight for the aged wooden doors. Those are the worshippers, seeing nothing around them but the sanctuary inside.

This is how I spent my Sunday mornings as a young child. I don't remember much about it, but I know I came and that is enough. I take a seat near the back, in awe as always of the grand and majestic nature of this room. The stained glass windows, the vast pillars, the stone floors that resound with the clutter of footsteps this morning and the lingering scent of incense- they all take me straight back to memories of my parents. My mother in particular, wearing a fancy dress as she always did and clutching my hand with a soft smile on her lips that spoke of love and faith and everything in between.

The service begins and half of me listens, while the other half of me closes my eyes and reflects. I don't expect to walk out of here with answers, but I feel calm for being here. I did wonder how I would react to being back inside these walls that once offered me so much comfort, and I am glad to find that I am handling it well. It doesn't bother me much because Sasuke and I have our own candles now.

"Let us pray," the priest upon the stand says. As a collective the room links their hands together and bows their heads and a few moments later I, too, join them. When I open my eyes someone has taken the seat next to me, eyeing me with a hint of surprise. My own eyes are wide in shock, unsure that I am seeing things correctly.

"Madara?"

He gives me a smirk and nods towards the speaking priest. "Silence," he whispers.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask him quietly, ignoring his instruction.

"I didn't," he shrugs. "I come every first Sunday of the month. You can tell me why you're here later."

Unfortunately, Madara's unintentional intrusion on my plans halts any thoughts I had of self-reflection. He's right- I know he used to vanish on Sunday mornings sometimes, but I never knew where or why. I didn't mind though- it meant Sasuke and I got to go to some kind of adventure club that involved games and various other fun activities for such an age. Where our uncle was vanishing to was never a concern.

When the priest calls people for communion Madara turns to me, voice lowered and looking intrigued. "You're here to find yourself," he states. It isn't a question, and he's absolutely correct. I hesitate and nod in reply. "Will you receive communion?"

"I am not eligible."

"You're baptised. I'm your godfather, remember?"

"It would be morally unjust to take it without knowing if I truly believe it," I argue lightly.

He shrugs. "True. I don't either. I just like coming here- there's something..." He pauses, glancing up at the stained glass windows before turning back to me. "There's something calming about it," he settles on. "I used to come with my brother because he wanted to, and I guess I could never quite quit the habit."

It's my turn to smirk this time. Madara is showing his mortal colours again.

"Are you looking forward to Kisame's return?" He asks in a blatant change of subject.

"Of course."

"Me too," he says, earning himself a glance of surprise from myself. "He keeps you sane," he shrugs in response to the unspoken question.

We lapse into silence, as we probably should have been in the first place, and observe. As expected, I have no new insight into my own mind, but I feel so tranquil that the venture is definitely worth it.


	11. Chapter 10

**10.**

The last week of the month passes without any more postcards. Madara swears he isn't withholding them from me this time, which worries me- perhaps Kisame felt sending the last ones was a mistake? As much as I attempt to tell myself that if there are any they are delayed in the post, but I don't really believe it.

Kisame didn't tell me what day he would be returning. I venture an attempt to his cell phone and find it switched off, which comes as no surprise since I'm sure he would have told me if we were able to communicate in that manner this month.

"Are you _sure_ you haven't received any more cards?" I ask Madara for the third time that morning.

"Trust me, if I had any I'd have given them to you by now to shut you up," he tells me with a heavy sigh, leaving me feeling a little like a lovesick teenager. "Now if you'd concentrate on your _work_ a moment- we have a meeting to attend today."

I sigh and attempt to hide my displeasure. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. It's being held about an hour away. Have you got over that travel sickness of yours yet?"

"Not really-"

"Alright then," He chimes in over me, standing up. "Come on."

"Now?" I ask, surprised at the lack of notice.

"Yes, now. That will give us an extra hour for all the stops we're going to have undoubtedly make to keep your nausea at bay. Don't think I have forgotten travelling with you when you were younger!"

I follow him down to the staff car park, where he leads us to his company car- a black Mazda with red interior. He seems to know the direction we are heading in since he leaves the sat nav off, turning the radio on low instead.

Madara is a careful driver, but I have noticed that the few times he's driven me anywhere since Sasuke's death that he is even more meticulous. I adopted the same habit- losing someone to the unforgiving roads is a stark reminder of what is at stake.

Of course, we've only been driving twenty minutes when we change the arrangement. Madara had been keeping a closer eye on me than I realised, since within a minute of feeling the usual nausea bite he took notice of how pale I had become and swerved the car to the side of the road.

"I don't know," he sighs dramatically as I get out of the car, leaning back against it and taking a deep lungful of air. "Do you want to drive instead?"

I take his offer once I am feeling better, though I had absolutely no idea where I was headed. Madara begins to direct me, assuring me that he knew where we were going.

"Kisame should be due back soon, right?" He asks me conversationally.

"I'm not sure. I think it's this week- he didn't actually tell me when it would be."

"Perhaps he's already back. Maybe that's why you haven't had any postcards?"

"I think he would have contacted me." I don't voice it, but I really _hope_ he would have done anyway.

"Do you think it'll be serious or just a casual fling?"

"Why do you care?" I ask suspiciously. Madara has never taken much notice of my love life before in such detail.

"Am I not allowed to care for my nephew's wellbeing?" Madara protests, sounding marginally hurt. I know this is an act, however, since there is definitely more going on here than he lets on.

"Why do you care?" I repeat again.

"Fucking hell," he breathes, giving me a sharp glance out of the corner of his eye. He reminds me of the startled rabbits his hawk captures for a moment. "Look, I don't want you getting hurt, alright?"

"How thoughtful," I intone, keeping my voice neutral to lessen his embarrassment. No wonder he didn't want to tell me.

"Yeah, yeah. If he hurts you I'm going to kick his ass- you don't need it right now."

"I think Kisame is exactly what I need," I admit quietly with a soft smile on my lips.

"I don't know," he sighs. "I'd like a crystal ball, Itachi. I'd like to see where you stand in a year's time- then I might actually know whether I should be happy for you or not."

"I don't think he would intentionally hurt me," I say with certainty in my voice. Kisame has shown to be kind and considerate so far, and doing so would be against his nature.

"So if it doesn't work out you'll stay together anyway, because he'd be frightened of breaking it off so he doesn't hurt you? Turn left here, Itachi."

I take the direction, frowning slightly. "You speak about me like I am not capable of having a say in a relationship either. If it isn't working, I wouldn't hesitate to walk away. Life's too short to waste- Sasuke has taught us this, has he not?"

"Indeed he has. Are you sure you aren't just clasping at straws right now to be happy?"

"I don't think so," I say honestly. The thought had crossed my mind, but I dismissed it when I realised my feelings were genuine for this man.

"You 'think'?"

"I did think perhaps I was admiring him because he gave me happiness," I admit quietly. "And who knows- perhaps it won't work out. However, nothing can change that I do really like him, and he seems to like me in return."

"Then I suppose you have my approval."

"You think I care for your approval?" I ask, amused.

He shrugs and stays strangely silent, leaving me feeling momentarily guilty for my words. Madara drops the conversation and directs me instead, leaving me to follow wordlessly. He leads us into a town I don't recognise- it turns out to be a seaside town, with signposts for a port nearby. It immediately makes me think of Kisame as my eyes stray to the sea as we pass it.

"Here," Madara says, indicating with his hand for me to turn right down a small lane. "The meeting is in the next town over, but there's a nice coffee shop here we can kill some time in. We're a little early."

I park the car and get out thankfully, letting Madara lead me across the street without complaint. He seems deep in thought about something, though we are heading for a meeting and considering his position in the company that usually requires him to speak and attempt to sound important. My role is the same as it is for meetings in our territory- Deidara summed it up once as 'looking menacing and pretty'. I have no idea how he still swears he's straight.

"After you," Madara says chivalrously as he opens the door to a quaint little cafe. I smirk and enter, opening my mouth to make a comment about his manners that dies away in my throat when I lock eyes with the last person I expected to see.

"Kisame?" I breathe in amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"I docked here," he shrugs as I stand in the doorway, stupefied. He's sitting at a table facing the door, a coffee mug in front of him and a grin on his face. Madara lightly nudges me aside, apparently unconcerned with Kisame's presence as he goes to the counter nearby. Kisame beckons for me and I sit opposite him, still staring in disbelief.

"Surprised?" He asks, that smile that I missed so much gracing his lips.

"I don't understand," I say as Madara comes to join us.

"What don't you understand, Itachi?" He asks.

"We stopped here by chance," I explain. "What are the odds-"

"Itachi," Madara sighs. "How naive are you? There is no meeting."

I stare at him in disbelief. "You planned this?"

"_We_ planned this," Madara says diplomatically, indicating one hand to Kisame.

I stare between them as the girl behind the counter comes forth with a tray of coffees, setting them down before us with a bright smile and a greeting. I am far too shocked to do much except nod a thank you to her, barely taking note of the drink in front of me.

Kisame is wearing what I presume is his uniform. It is a smart black shirt lined with white, commendations of some kind on one breast pocket. He looks important and almost unbearably attractive.

"Explain," I finally request.

"Of course," Kisame nods. He has a postcard in his hands, which he thrusts forward to me. "But first, I need to give you this. I didn't get the chance to post it, so I thought I'd deliver it by hand."

It reads 'if I asked you on a date, would you say yes?' I stare at it before lowering it to the table, a whisper of a smile tracing my lips.

"I'd love to," I tell him quietly. "And now you can tell me what the hell's going on here."

"It's really quite simple," Madara says in a voice that suggests I am a moron for not seeing it sooner. "Kisame called the corporation first thing this morning asking to speak to you. You were engaged in other activities-"

"Buying coffee at your request," I point out tersely, but he speaks right over me.

-"so I took the call. It turned out to be Kisame here so I asked him what his intentions were towards you. He explained, I accepted his answer and told him I would keep his return a secret and bring you to him as a surprise."

"That's why you didn't give me any notice for the so-called meeting," I murmur, the pieces of the puzzle slipping into place. "So now we're here, what are we going to do?"

"We're going on my ship," Kisame says with a wide grin. "Don't worry though- it's not going to move anywhere."

He reaches across the table and laces his hands around one of my own. His hands are large compared to mine, almost swallowing my one hand with both of his, but it feels almost like protection to me. I like it.

"I got the rest of your postcards," I tell him with an amused smile. "What were you trying to insinuate when you said 'I presume you aren't a virgin'?"

"I was privy to that conversation your friend Deidara had about your... Conquests," he says, clearly attempting to word it in the nicest way possible.

"He means he's aware of your stint of sleeping around like a whore," Madara cuts in helpfully, a discarded newspaper from another table in his hands.

"Why are you still here?" I ask curtly.

"How are you getting home without me?" He retorts. "I'm staying here until you're done touring his ship, then I'm driving us back."

"I mean why are you still sitting at this table?" I ask with a little more emphasis. He glances over the top of his newspaper, realising what I mean before he smirks, laughs shortly and stays exactly where he is. Jerk. It's no wonder he doesn't have a girlfriend. Any self respecting woman would run a mile once she realises this man has the potential to grow horns and bathe in fire.

"So... How old were you?" Kisame asks cheekily, bringing my attention back to his postcard questions.

"Fifteen with a girl, twenty with a guy," I mutter, hoping Madara can't hear me.

"Fifteen?" My uncle echoes, showing me that his hearing is bionic after all. "My, my."

"We'll continue this on your ship," I tell Kisame, who is too busy chuckling to argue.

We finish the coffee and depart, leaving Madara in the coffee shop. He waves and tells us to behave- I resist the urge to send him a discourteous hand signal.

The port is quiet when we arrive- from the looks of it there are only a couple of ships currently docked. Kisame leads me towards one of them, one hand loosely clasped in mine. Part of me wants to shake it off but the other part of me is aware that this man is now my partner, and he is only doing what partners do. The mental confirmation has me smiling slightly, squeezing his fingers lightly.

"Here she is," he says proudly as he wraps one arm around my shoulder and gestures up at the majestic ship before us with his other. He radiates delight when he's in range of the sea, and being here with his ship right in front of us only amplifies that. "Let's get onboard."

The first thing I note once we have done so is that Kisame's observation once about it being rather like a holiday camp is spot on. That is the vibe I get, only more upmarket and less inclined towards children. He leads me straight through to what appears to be the cabin quarters, grinning as we enter an area clearly marked 'staff only'.

Kisame's cabin is much like I expected it to be. It's decorated rather like his house is, including a mounted picture of Samehada and the strangely knotted ropes hanging from the ceiling. He sighs and falls down onto the edge of the bed, patting next to him to invite me to join him.

"So tell me," he says, his change of tone instantaneous now we're behind closed doors. He sounds almost flirtatious now. "That kiss... I've been thinking, like I said I would. I'm not convinced you're in the best place right now for a relationship, so it's up to you to prove to me that you are."

"If Sasuke had been my partner I might agree with you," I reason, my mind already working overtime to reply to this new obstacle. "However, he was my sibling. Getting involved with you isn't going to directly interfere with the grieving process for him- if anything it will help, because having people who understand by my side has proved to be invaluable lately. Having somebody close to me on a personal level can only amplify-"

I don't know if it's because I've convinced him or whether he is simply sick of the sound of my voice, but he captures my lips in a kiss. It shuts me up immediately, feeling one of his hands on the back of my head and returning the favour slowly.

"Alright," he breathes when we break apart. "You convinced me."

"I didn't have to say very much," I tease lightly.

"You did," he insists. "You spoke about Sasuke without a single hint of despair in your eyes."

I had no idea I was doing so, so I certainly didn't realise I had lost the trait now. I have no time to think about it further as Kisame kisses me again, gently prying at my lips with his tongue. I happily oblige and let him enter, feeling a spark of arousal as he does so- as Deidara so kindly pointed out, my last intimate moment with someone was eight months ago, and it seems I was a little more starved for affection than I thought.

Plus, seeing Kisame in his uniform is most certainly _not_ helping matters. It's destroying any rational thoughts my mind may have, telling me the only acceptable deviation from his current shirt would be no shirt at all. He chuckles as he presses his lips to my neck, slowly dragging them down to the crook of my shoulder.

"Now now," he chides gently as I shudder lightly beneath his lips. "I feel I should make it known that I don't fuck on first dates."

"I do," I respond, a wicked gleam in my eye that shows him that my common sense has taken a back seat to my libido.

"I don't care," he hushes, putting one finger to my lips. "This is too important to me, Itachi."

His words subdue me slightly, feeling appreciation wash over me as I close my eyes and lean into his chest. He wraps his arms around me and we stay where we are- I am content to listen to his heartbeat, and he is content to keep me safe.

"I've missed you," I admit quietly.

"I missed you too," he replies just as softly. "I'm back for the month, but then I have to go again. You understand that, don't you Itachi?"

He's asking me if I'm happy with a relationship that functions on month-long breaks. I pull away from him and nod, determination in my eyes.

"I'm happy with that," I confirm. "Perhaps I could come with you sometime?"

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "What about your job?"

"I don't plan to be working under Madara forever," I say distastefully. "In answer to your question about where I see myself in five years time, I have to say that I genuinely don't know. However, it won't be where I am now. That much I'm certain of."

"Describe yourself in five words," he replies, fire in his eyes and a grin on his lips. I grin back, aware the quizzing session is about to begin.

"Astute, loving, respectful, autonomous, confident," I reply without a moment's hesitation. I'd been thinking about that particular question a lot.

He thinks that over for a moment before nodding his approval. "That works."

"And yourself?" I ask, unwilling to let this question and answer session be so one sided.

He grins and lowers his lips back to my neck, lightly nipping with teeth that feel much too sharp. I gasp and he grasps my shoulders, keeping me in place as I twist slightly to keep him from continuing that course of action.

"Ambitious," he replies into my neck, his breath almost as hot as I feel right now. "Honest. Loyal." He pauses to think, one hand dropping to my scarlet tie as he does so. "Impulsive." He grins as he slowly unties it, his eyes never leaving mine. "And finally... I'm also confident."

He discards the tie, undoing the top couple of buttons on his own shirt. It isn't enough to expose anything, but it causes my breath to catch in my throat regardless.

"Why haven't your past relationships worked out?"

"I haven't really had any that are meaningful. I spent all my time supporting Sasuke."

"I spent too much time dating girls, before you ask. Where do you want to visit in the world?"

"Europe."

"We'll make it happen," he promises. "I'm fortunate enough to have been everywhere I want to go. What do you look for in a partner?"

"Trust and respect."

"The feeling is mutual," he murmurs, though it sounds almost like a purr as he finishes unbuttoning my shirt. He swishes it open, leaving me feeling slightly exposed yet not entirely unhappy with the arrangement. "What physical features are you attracted to?"

"Eyes."

"Hands," he replies. I had guessed as much, since he's taken to touching mine quite often. "Am I going to have to find out your turn ons?"

"That sounds like a lot more fun," I reply. Before the words are out of my mouth he has his arms around me once more, kissing and slowly leaning against me in such a manner that I have no choice but to collapse back onto the bed. He hovers above me, giving me the opportunity to unbutton his own smart uniform shirt.

"I reiterate," he says. "No fucking on first dates."

"That wasn't my intention," I assure him. "You are right. That can come later."

"Exploration, however..." he whispers into my ear, nibbling on the edge of it just in case I _wasn't_ already horrifically turned on. "That's just fine."

I cast his uniform shirt aside, admiring his chest much more this time now I have permission to do so. I place my hands on his collarbones, running both hands down and to the edge of his belt. He chuckles and halts one of them, since the other is keeping me above me.

"That's as far as you go," he warns with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Fine," I oblige, removing my hands as requested. He promptly disregards this rule on myself, hands deftly unbuckling my own belt.

"I should warn you," he tells me as I glance up at him in surprise. "I'm not a virgin either, and I had my first male sexual experience at the age of twenty two. I have a lot of experience under my _belt_, if you know what I mean."

The pun is terrible and sounds like something Deidara would say, but I am rendered incapable of complaining about it as he continues to strip me of my clothing.

"How long do you think your uncle is willing to wait around?" He queries.

"He'll wait as long as needed, but he won't like it," I advise.

"Ah," he sighs. "He's good to you, that man."

"Talking about him isn't going to help the mood any," I say warningly. He takes the hint and quiets, using his lips to kiss the soft flesh of my inner thighs instead. I gasp and claw at the cover beneath me, earning myself another of those light, playful chuckles that sound almost seductive in nature.

"As long as he isn't going to leave us stranded here," he says as he sweeps my shirt off of my shoulders. I realise this is a hint and shrug it off, allowing him to run his hands down my chest much like I did to him. "Then we have plenty of time to get to know each other, don't we?"

-.-.-

Madara is less than pleased when we return over two hours later. Despite both of us making sure we were smart and presentable before leaving, the flush on our cheeks and the stupid grin we are both sharing is more than enough to give us away.

"A two hour tour?" He asks with one eyebrow raised. "Look at the state of you both! I don't believe that for a second. Don't you have any dignity, Itachi?"

"Plenty," I say smoothly, my usual professional demeanour in place. "Are you ready?"

"I was ready an hour and a half ago," he snaps as he pushes past us and out of the door. Kisame and I share a guilty look, but we still haven't stopped grinning.

The mood is quickly killed by a bout of travel sickness. Madara automatically took to the wheel and I was too engrossed in my own thoughts to mention otherwise, realising half an hour later that it wasn't the best idea I've ever had. On reflection, I have to admit that pretending I was fine and ignoring it in order to look good in front of Kisame wasn't the brightest idea either.

"So your travel sickness is pretty bad, huh?" He says sympathetically as he leans back against the fence I am kneeling by, coughing and retching into the scenery. He reaches out and brushes my bangs behind my ears, which only serves to embarrass me further.

"What gave you that impression?" I say sharply, though I'm taking my frustration at myself out on him more than I am chiding him for his words.

"Well you look pretty pale," he says with a cheeky grin. "That, and that's twice now-"

"Alright, alright," I mutter, glaring up at him to silence him for his unnecessary commentary.

"Relationships and the things in them aren't always pretty," he shrugs, turning away. "If I can't handle you being a bit sick, then what hope are we going to have?"

He makes a very good point, but it doesn't make me feel much better. "Do you think we have a chance?" I ask against my better judgement, but I'm already feeling miserable so if he responds negatively then at least it won't affect me all that much. Well- this is the theory anyway.

"We do," he confirms. "I don't see you as the high maintenance type, so things should work out just fine."

"Oh I am," I disagree as I pull myself to a stand. "I require plenty of stuffed crabs to keep me happy."

He stares at me for a moment like I've lost my mind before he laughs, eyes sparkling with delight as he rests as hand on my shoulder. "Is that all?" He asks playfully. "I'm sure I can manage that much, at least."

The car is pulled over at the side of the country lane we were heading through- Madara is already sitting in the passenger seat, handing the keys over to me as I slide into the driver's side sheepishly.

"Next time you want me to stop the car, please give me more warning than about five seconds," he admonishes.

"How about we just assume myself to be the default driver in future?" I suggest.

"Sounds fine to me," Madara shrugs. "I'm docking two hours of your pay, by the way."

"Alright," I tell him airily. I know by now that he won't keep his word.

Madara takes us back to the office, letting me know that even though I 'have a new boyfriend to play with' I still have some hours left of the working day. I am above pleading so I resolve myself to my fate, while Kisame asks if it's alright for him to take a look around the place.

"I'll give you a tour," I say.

"No you won't," Madara cuts in. "Your last tour ended up being two hours and possibly involved sex. There will be no touchy feely stuff on the office grounds, you hear me?"

We both hear him, but I share a quick look with Kisame and see the same gleam in his eye that my own hold. That's a rule that neither of us intend to keep. Madara won't relent though, so Kisame is left to wander around of his own free will while I end up back at my desk.

"Forfeit your afternoon break and I won't dock your pay," my uncle informs me.

"You wouldn't anyway," I say breezily. He glares at me, but there's a hint of mortification there that says we both know I'm right.

"Cheeky brat," he finally settles on. "Get on with your work."

"I was before you interrupted me."

"You're pushing your luck."

"And you're losing your touch."

The exchange lands me with another pile of paperwork thirty minutes later that Madara conveniently 'doesn't have the time for', but my response to it is a smile. He's all bark and no bite, and I can't believe it took me this long to really see it.

Madara overworks me by fifteen minutes, probably to spite me since that is the exact length of the afternoon break I refused to forfeit. We get the train together, Madara muttering something about how I better not call in sick tomorrow as he stands up to get off at his stop.

"Why would I call in sick?" I reply, narrowing my eyes in confusion. I would be practically handing my job back to him if I tried to pretend I was sick, since he'd know my real reason was Kisame.

"You know," he shrugs, his voice far too loud for reasons I soon discover. "On account of all the sex. I don't care how much you ache- you show up tomorrow."

Kisame laughs outright at this and bids Madara goodbye while I attempt to hide my face from the questioning glances of other commuters, who have most likely noticed I am sitting with another male. Kisame seals the deal by throwing an arm around me, just in case they were wondering if he is the other party in the conversation.

"He has a point," he says, his tone indicating he is being serious. "I don't know if a man has ever been rendered incapable of walking because he's been blown too much. Would you like to find out?"

"Kisame!" I hiss at him, mortification staining my cheeks further.

"What? You didn't complain earl-"

I stand and flee for another carriage, knowing the soft and badly stifled laughter coming from the young couple two seats down is most definitely aimed at us. Kisame follows, grabbing my arm partway with a wicked grin on his face.

"Round two," he offers, and yanks me straight into the train bathroom in full view of the other passengers. They are most likely as aware as I am that this room is not designed for more than one person, and thus two people entering is suspicious.

"Are you kidding?" I say flatly, shaking my head. "Here? Absolutely not. I have standards."

"What?" Kisame sighs, looking unimpressed as he releases me from where he has me pinned against the door.

"I have restraint, and am quite happy to wait until we are in a much more sanitary and private place to conduct such activities," I explain haughtily, attempting to scavenge back the pieces of my dignity that are currently shattered across the floor.

"Says the guy who got groped in the middle of a dance floor- wasn't that what Deidara said?"

"That's different. That involved my clothes staying on."

"You have got to be the only man to willingly turn down an offer like that," Kisame admonishes, but he allows me to open the door and escape to yet another carriage where we are unknown to the occupants as the sexual deviants we appear to be.

"Clothing stays on, eh?" He whispers once we're sitting down, one hand snaking up my thigh. I gasp and attempt to bat it off, widened eyes glancing his way almost pleadingly. "In _that_ case-"

The gasp he causes me to elicit draws yet more attention our way as I batter his hand away roughly and quickly re-buckle my belt again. "One stop," I hiss. "Behave yourself for more one stop."

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Kisame asks, and he looks serious enough that I tentatively nod in response. "Good. So did I. I'm just making up for lost time."

I move down to the final carriage and snap at him if Kisame so much as even looks at me, glad when we finally reach my stop and get off of the train. Neither of us had said that Kisame would come home with me- it just happened naturally, so it's a surprise when he realises we didn't get off with Madara.

"You moved back home?"

"I did," I reply with a nod. "Madara gave me my postcards."

"It's not that. I mean... You've been alright with it?"

"Not bad," I say truthfully. "It took some adjusting to, but I did manage to get rid of his things from every room but his own."

"That's good," he praises, a proud smile on his face. "Well done, Itachi."

We get halfway home before he starts his assault again. He puts one arm around me as we walk, which I am content with until his hand wanders down and cups me in a manner that immediately makes me jump.

"What?" He asks of my sharp look. "You have a nice ass! What else do you want me to do?"

"How about you stop molesting me in public?"

"You're no fun," he says, slapping me lightly and narrowly avoiding the returned slap to the arm I send his way for it.

"I assure you, I know exactly how to have fun. Just _not_ in such-"

He silences me in a rather effective method involving his tongue. I fall into the kiss easily, letting him run his hands through my hair and draw me closer to him once his hands are on the small of my back. Just when I think I might possibly relent to his stupid ideas he stops kissing me, leaving me stunned and rooted to the spot.

"Your place?" Kisame prompts, which gets me moving at a much quicker pace than before.

Inside the apartment building seems to be close enough for Kisame, since inside the elevator he heightens the sexual tension between us even more by sighing loudly about how hot it is, before unbuttoning his Captain's shirt once more. This time I am the one struggling to keep my hands to myself, almost dragging him to the front door of my apartment. The key is already in my hand and we practically fall inside, melting into a kiss the second the door is closed. Kisame pushes me back up against it, hands scrambling at the front of my shirt for my tie.

"Wait," I breathe, wrenching the tie free and throwing it to one side. Kisame undoes the buttons and slips my shirt off, then removes his own before pinning me back up against the cool wooden door. His tongue begs for entry and my lips grant it, panting as we break apart once more and tilting my head back against the door.

"This doesn't count as the second date," Kisame explains before he reattaches himself to my lips.

"I don't care," I pant as we break apart again for much needed oxygen. "I care for you, not what we do or don't do in the bedroom."

I realise that sounds terrible, but he doesn't take offense to my badly worded statement and captures my lips in another kiss instead. I break away and indicate with one hand- he understands where I'm pointing so we head for my bedroom. Out of habit I close the door behind us despite being the only ones home, leaving us to fall back onto the bed in an untidy heap.

"I'm glad I met you," I tell him before he can jump on me once more and warp my thoughts to a more sexual nature. Right now I feel thankful, and he momentarily backs off and gives me a sincere smile.

"I'm glad I met you too," he whispers, lightly kissing me in a way that seems so much more sensual than the others we have shared. I suppose it is the difference between lust and... Well, I wouldn't say love at this point, but certainly the start of something rather special. The last few months have been a rollercoaster but it all finally feels like it's coming to an end now. Sasuke is still gone and I still miss and love him dearly, but I have some brightness in my life at least now. Things are better with Madara than they ever have been. I feel closer to even Deidara, too.

Then there's Kisame- I can't even begin to comprehend how that revelation makes me feel yet, though my mind is offering up some perverted opinions considering he has taken to kissing a line down my chest and to my navel. Things are nowhere near perfect and I am not naive even to think I will be this happy forever, but right now I am and that's the most important thing I could ever ask for.


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

I have always dealt with sixteen candles. It has never been easy, but adding the seventeenth candle is much harder than I hoped it would be. I can feel my throat constricting already, sighing heavily and placing the newest addition at the end of the line on the windowsill. The wick is as white as pure snow and the ivory wax untouched, unlike the other half used and worn candles by its side.

I take my lighter and set each wick ablaze, bringing each candle to life as I do so. Behind me Kisame flicks out the lights once they are all lit, and closes the door behind him to leave me in peace.

"Happy birthday," I whisper to the air. This is something I now do without question, even though I am always painfully aware he can't hear me. "We're going out for drinks to celebrate for you soon. Deidara tells me I'm _not_ allowed to get so wrecked I don't remember the evening, but we'll have to see about that."

I sit cross legged before the candles in silence, watching the flames lick the air as thoughts cloud my mind. I let them, since this is mine and Sasuke's time now. It means I don't choke back the tears in my eyes either, allowing them to fall as I clutch lightly at the carpet and turn my gaze away. I pull myself to my feet and cross the room, opening the door a crack and making my way back to what has become the essence of Sasuke once more.

I don't hear Kisame enter but I know that he does. Today, I can't cope. Today, he needs to help put me back together. He puts an arm around my shoulders and just keeps it there without saying a word as I cover my face with my hands and cry.

"Sorry," I eventually murmur, when I have calmed down enough to do so.

"For what?" He asks. "It's his birthday. Of course you're going to be upset."

He sounds bemused, and I don't blame him. He has a point, as always. "Thank you," I murmur, and he knows this is his cue to leave again. He closes the door behind him, but I know he's waiting in the hall again, just in case.

If I need him, he's there. If I can cope, he vanishes. It is an arrangement I have come to rely on, and am so grateful for it that I could never say it in words. Instead I say it in my touch when I ran my hands down his back, or with the soft smiles only he gets to see, or with the hours I spend waiting at the port for him to return the day his ship docks again.

"Here," I say to Sasuke, picking up something from my side. "I got you a card."

I set it next to the candles and observe it for a moment. It doesn't quite look right up there, so I take it down again when a better idea comes to mind.

"I'll try and stay sober enough to tell you about it later," I promise as I pull myself to my feet. "Though if you can really hear me, you could just tag along you know. You're welcome to. It's your birthday, after all."

I hesitate before blowing out the candles, as I always do. "Goodbye and keep having fun," I whisper, before I blow them out in one swift breath that reminds me so much of a child making a wish with their birthday candles. I am not a child and I am healed enough that my wishes are no longer for the impossible, but for a fleeting moment my wish is that he could somehow know how I feel right now. My love for him hasn't died, even if he has.

Out in the hall, Kisame nods at me and gives me a smile. I smile back, albeit weakly, and indicate to the front door. "Shall we?" I ask.

"If you're ready," he replies. "Did you feed the fish?"

"Yes," I sigh, thinking of the orange goldfish swimming around in its bowl in the living room. Deidara turned up with it this morning, chatting away like it was perfectly normal to bring somebody a pet without their permission. He told me it was called Sasori, because it was a nice golden colour, and ignored me when I said orange and red are not very alike. He is still utterly infatuated with his co worker, though he at least admits this much now even if the man in question is unaware.

Once he had avoided the subject of Sasuke long enough he told me he was sorry, gave me a hug and promptly vanished. This left me with a goldfish, a bowl, a tub of fish flakes and no clue whatsoever regarding the care of said fish. Kisame, thankfully, took over before I killed the poor thing. It would have happened. I don't know how, but it would. Watching it swim around happily later that afternoon reduced me to tears however, knowing it was a gift for my brother that he would never get to see.

Kisame doesn't say a word about the birthday card in my hand as we head outside. He still doesn't say a word when I pause in the front garden, taking my lighter out of my pocket. Holding the card up I swallow past the lump in my throat before flicking it to life, setting the greeting ablaze in a flurry of flame and smoke. I drop it to the ground, and together we watch it burn. Kisame keeps one arm around me, and says nothing until all that is left is ash and glowing embers.

"He was lucky to have you," is all he tells me. I have no suitable response for such praise, so I say nothing and step over the once-fiery remains and open the front gate.

"Deidara and Madara are probably waiting," I hint.

"They're in a bar," Kisame sighs as he, too, respectfully steps over the ashes. "I'm sure they're entertaining themselves just fine."

He links his hand into mine and squeezes gently, which I return as he walk down the street towards where my friend and my uncle should be gathered. I no longer have a problem with public displays of affection- mostly likely because Kisame is rather fond of them, and also persistent. This is not negative. I find it hard to believe Kisame _has_ any negative points, minus the obvious working issues, but I would never take that away from him. He is as fond of the sea as I am of my sibling, and neither of us would take the spirit of those away from one another.

Kisame nudges me out of my thoughts by pulling me to a stop and kissing my lips lightly, leaving me craving more when he pulls away.

"What was that for?" I ask, frowning in confusion when he simply carries on walking.

"Do I need a reason?" He shrugs as I jog to catch up his steps, realising after a moment when he means. Kisame and I don't thrive on the type of relationship where we have to tell each other 'I love you', but just like I show it by the endless hours spent wasted on the shores of the sea, he shows it in little gestures and snippets of affection that while I question, I would hate to be without.

"I guess not," I shrug, allowing him to keep his pride regardless. He grins, squeezes my hand again and promptly slaps my ass in a manner that almost earns him a slap in the face, as it always does. Life isn't perfect and it is unlikely that it ever will be, especially without my brother alive and well by my side, but if this is as close to ecstasy as I can reach right now then this will do just fine.


End file.
